


Siren Song

by Becky_J_1022



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, As usual Nikandros is Not Amused by any of this, Cursed Damen, Damen does not know who Laurent is, Echos canon plot events, Jokaste makes an appearance as a Siren, Laurent knows who Damen is, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Not quite enemies to lovers but very close, Pirate AU, Pirate Damen, Prince-turned-navigator Laurent, Sorry guys Auguste is still dead, Very lightly implied past child abuse, but he does make an appearance! sort of, definitely still dead though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:08:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22066060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Becky_J_1022/pseuds/Becky_J_1022
Summary: “I’m sure you’re thinking that I should have known better than to make a bargain with a Siren,” he said with a rueful smile. “And you’d be right. I should have. But getting off that island, and the promise of finding my father’s murderer… the pull was too strong, and I was weak. I didn’t even ask what the cost would be. I agreed.”Laurent had not looked away from him once since he had begun talking, his attention a nearly-physical weight upon Damen’s skin. “And what did it cost?” Laurent asked softly.Damen stared at him. “Everything,” he finally said. “It cost me everything.”****When Damen is cursed by a Siren in exchange for the revenge his heart desperately desires, his life is thrown into chaos, and betrayal lurks around every corner. Despite his better judgment, he allows a beautiful young man to seek berth on his ship, not knowing that he has granted refuge to the one man who has every reason to want him dead. Laurent may be the key to breaking Damen's curse, and Damen could help restore Laurent to his throne—but if they have any hope of helping each other, they will have to untangle their bitter pasts first.
Relationships: Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Comments: 48
Kudos: 144
Collections: Captive Prince Reverse Bang 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my fic for the 2019 Captive Prince reverse big bang! It was inspired by the [incredible art](https://holililil.tumblr.com/post/190085051290/here-my-piece-for-capri-bigbang2k19-this-one-is) of [holililil](https://holililil.tumblr.com). Go look at it, because it's so lovely, and I couldn't have written this without it!
> 
> I've never actually written an AU, so this was an adventure! It requires a different set of writing muscles than writing canon fic. I actually can't believe there isn't smut in here...listen, I could always write a .5 chapter like Pacat did. I wouldn't put it past me.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

The ship, moored at the end of the wharf, was nothing special. The sails were furled tight against the masts, and though they were of decent quality, they looked as though they had seen their share of time at sea. The hull was faded and had long gouges in it, as though it had been dashed against sharp rocks more than once. It was not the kind of ship that the Crown Prince of Vere would ever step foot on.

Which was exactly why it held so much appeal to Laurent. 

He didn’t remember making a conscious decision to leave—running was not in his blood, and his pride stung at the thought of letting his uncle win. But the last attempt on Laurent’s life had been so brazen that he knew to stay would be his death, sooner rather than later. So when his uncle had been looking the other way, he had slipped down an alleyway, ducking carefully through the crowds, keeping a sharp eye behind him for guards. 

He had paused in a shadow long enough to strip off his fine jacket, leaving him only in his white undershirt, and had traded it with a beggar for a tattered vest to cover as much of the expensive fabric as possible. He’d intentionally disturbed his hair into a haphazard ruffle, letting pieces fall across his forehead in a disorderly tangle that he would never allow at any other time. It had been the best disguise he could manage under such circumstances, and he had continued on his way to his destination.

The wharf had always been one of his favorite places, full of people from all different walks of life, full of life and possibility and the sense that anything was possible. Laurent supposed it was a feeling that remained from his childhood, when Auguste would lift him up to the helm of _The Veretian Queen_ and tell him that, one day, this would all be theirs. He would paint a future in which they could go wherever they wanted, leaving behind the trappings of land and the snares of the palace, sailing beyond the horizons to whatever may be hiding in the fading rays of the sun. Their only limits would be the speed of the wind and the shape of the tide. He had promised. 

But dead men kept no promises. 

Laurent lifted his chin and strode forward, pushing Auguste out of his mind. His uncle would have a search going now throughout the city, and it wouldn’t be long before he decided to check the wharf. It was no secret how much Laurent loved it. He had to get aboard a ship as soon as possible. And he knew which one he wanted. 

As he approached the end of the wharf, he took a closer look at the ship, an appraising sweep that took in the quality beneath the surface impression. Despite the wind-beaten sails and sun-bleached wood, the ship was an impressive size, and was clearly well-cared for. The figurehead on the bow was a great lion, rearing forth as though it had been leaping for its freedom as it was trapped in the wood of the ship. Its forepaws were outstretched, reaching towards the horizon, its mouth opened in a permanent, silent roar, its mane flowing back as though caught in the wind coming off the sea. 

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” 

Laurent started at the deep voice that spoke beside him, jolting him out of his reverie. He turned cautiously towards the speaker, heart beating against his ribs. He wasn’t exactly anonymous here—most of the inhabitants of the city had seen him, at least from a distance. His blond hair and pale skin was a rare combination in Vere, a gift from his mother’s side. If he was recognized, this escape was over before it had begun.

The man standing beside him was handsome— _very_ handsome, Laurent admitted to himself with some annoyance—and nearly a foot taller than Laurent. His brown skin was tanned even deeper by long exposure to the sun, his dark hair curling just around his ears, tousled a bit with the breeze coming off the water. He was dressed richly, with a heavy red cloak draped across his shoulders. Light flashed off the golden gem in his ear, and, as he turned to look at Laurent, he was startled to see that the man wore a patch over one eye. It did nothing to detract from his features. 

Laurent cleared his throat, turning back to the ship. “Are you among the crew?” 

The man laughed, low in his throat. “Yes,” he said, regarding the ship proudly. Laurent had seen that look before, in men as they gazed at their lovers. He had never seen anyone look that way at a ship, however, not even his father. The man turned towards Laurent. “Her name is _The Egeria_ , and I am her captain, Damianos.” 

Laurent froze as a bolt of recognition struck down his spine. Damianos and _The Egeria_ were infamous, and Laurent, in particular, had reason to know the name. Still, Laurent didn't have the luxury of being picky, no matter who this man may be or what he had done, curse or no curse. He resolved to keep his recognition to himself. 

Damianos held out his hand to Laurent, which Laurent took, with a little hesitation. His palm was rough with callus, his grip strong and warm. For a moment, they simply stood like that, hands clasped, looking at each other. Laurent swallowed hard, stepping back a pace and dropping his hand. 

“You know,” Damianos said pleasantly, “in normal introductions, both parties give their names. But I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of learning yours.” 

For some reason, Laurent felt himself flushing. He looked into the single calm brown eye, forcing himself to keep his gaze steady, straightening his spine. 

“My name is—Charls,” Laurent said, speaking the first name that came into his head. Charls was the name of one of the merchants who did business in the palace—he was a clothier, Laurent believed. Laurent wasn’t a common enough name for him to continue using it, at least not until he was far from here. He was well-known in the city, by appearance as well as by name, and he could take no chances. 

Damianos was watching him closely, though he just nodded, then looked back to _The Egeria_. Laurent was grateful for the broken eye contact. The man made him uncomfortable, though he didn’t examine the feeling closely enough to pinpoint exactly _why_. He mentally shook himself. He didn’t have time for these distractions. 

“I am seeking berth upon a ship,” he said, keeping his tone nonchalant. “Preferably one leaving the city today. Your ship caught my eye—she is clearly the finest ship here.” 

Damianos looked over at him with his eyebrow raised, letting out a short, skeptical breath. He looked around at the other ships docked at the wharf. There were several impressive merchant ships, and at least one passenger ship with new sails and fresh paint. He turned back to look at Laurent, his eye sparkling with amusement. Laurent held his gaze, refusing to back down from his statement. 

“The finest ship here? No man besides myself would think that a serious claim, and even I recognize that my opinion is biased. Perhaps your vision is even poorer than mine?” 

Laurent narrowed his eyes, annoyed. “My vision is perfectly adequate, as is my judgment.” 

“Very well,” Damianos said, his smile lingering. “But, I’m sorry to tell you, _The Egeria_ does not take passengers.”

“I’ll pay,” Laurent said, “handsomely.” 

Damianos shook his head. “Even so, I’m afraid it’s not possible. Crew only.” 

“Then hire me.” 

Damianos turned to fix one incredulous eye on Laurent, the confident tone clearly catching him off guard.

“The only member of crew I am lacking is a navigator,” Damianos said. “I have no room for a cabin boy.” 

Laurent felt his temper rise at the implication and, with effort, forced it down. He needed to get aboard this ship—now. He could practically feel his uncle closing in on him. “I will be your navigator,” he said through slightly clenched teeth. “You need not even pay me.”

“And what,” Damianos said, “would you know about navigating? Forgive me, but despite that truly disgraceful vest, you look like a rich merchant’s son, likely never stepped foot off land.” He did a slow, insulting scan from Laurent’s head to his toes and back up, with a look on his face that made heat flush through Laurent’s body. He kept his anger barely in check. 

“I’m surprised you can see what I look like at all. Perhaps if you had two functional eyes, you would be able to see the opportunity I am handing you. My father had ships, and I spent more of my youth on water than on land. Wherever you want to go, I can get you there.” 

Damianos was looking at him with a calculating look in his eye, seemingly undaunted by the insults, though Laurent could not tell if he believed him or not. There was silence for several moments. 

“My first mate is on his way back with a skilled and experienced navigator,” Damianos finally said, watching Laurent closely. “The position is filled.” 

Laurent turned a sharp smile upon him. “You will choose me.” 

Damianos raised a wry eyebrow. “Is that so?” 

Laurent looked away, turning back to _The Egeria_ , the lion poised proudly at her bow, eager to sail. “Yes,” he said simply. “It is.”

*****

Damen was still cursing his own lack of self-control as he strode up to the helm. He ran a hand over the smooth wood, wishing they were already underway. He always felt on edge when he was near land, and he was particularly unwelcome here. The sooner they were on open water, the better. 

Nikandros had given him an earful when he had returned with their new navigator and found the position filled. He had taken one look at the young man who claimed his name was Charls—Damen didn’t believe that for a second—and dragged Damen into his cabin, leaving behind the confused-looking man he had intended to be their new navigator. 

“You must have seaweed growing between your ears, because your brain has clearly vacated the space,” he had said, barely keeping his voice down. “We’re going to end up shipwrecked and lost, all because you can’t say no to a pretty blond. You’re not cursed, you’re just stupid.” 

“Nik,” Damen had replied, his voice a warning. “I am the captain here. I didn’t hire him because he’s _blond_. I hired him because I think there’s more to him than meets the eye. You know what we face—we need all the help we can get.” 

“And what about the crew?” Nikandros had asked quietly, watching Damen seriously. “Do you truly think he won’t notice anything? You know what will happen eventually. You can’t trust him.” 

“I know,” Damen had said with a bitter twist to his mouth. “Of course I know. Do you think I have forgotten? He is a navigator, nothing more. I shall keep him at arm’s length.”

He knew that Nikandros spoke the truth, and he had to be careful. But it was true, Damen _did_ believe there was more to his new navigator than what it appeared. He knew that the young man was lying to him about his name, at the very least—the pause had been minuscule, but still discernible to someone paying close attention. Damen was willing to let it go, for now. He certainly wasn’t the strangest member of Damen’s crew, and as long as his past didn’t put them all in danger, it was none of Damen’s business. _Charls_ would tell him who he really was, or he wouldn’t. It changed nothing. 

A small, traitorous voice came to life in the back of Damen’s mind, asking if he would have so readily accepted a lying stranger onto his ship if he hadn’t looked like _that_. Damen pushed the voice aside.

There was no denying it, the man was uncommonly attractive, and he was exactly to Damen’s tastes, down to the last golden hair on his head. His icy blue eyes had been contemptuous and haughty, true, but that only made him all the more enticing. Damen could almost feel his presence, somewhere below him in the crew’s quarters, drawing him like a compass needle to true north. 

Still, Damen believed he was telling the truth when he spoke of his experience at sea. Plus, he was clearly desperate to leave this city, which meant he was likely to do whatever he was asked to do. Life aboard _The Egeria_ was dangerous and difficult—he needed his crew loyal, and, if not loyal, compliant. 

It sounded like excuses even to him. 

Regardless, he had made his choice. For better or worse, he had his navigator, and it was time to return to the open water. 

Shouting orders to the crew, he pointed the bow into the wind and ordered the sails unfurled and hoisted. The deck came to life, men scurrying to and fro to their posts as they prepared to sail. Slowly but surely they made their way away from the wharf, and Damen felt something inside him ease as the horizon opened in front of him. 

As always, though, just underneath the sense of rightness that came with the sight of the sea, his soul was calling out to something lost, to a place his heart yearned for and a place he could not find—home. 

*****

Laurent returned to the deck, having stowed his few possessions. He moved to the quarterdeck to stand beneath the mainmast, watching as the wharf grew smaller and smaller. He could see the towers of the palace, rising above the rest of the buildings, though he could recognize nothing else. From this distance, it was difficult to even distinguish between the sections of the city. 

He took a deep breath, feeling his heart lighten with each gust of wind that carried him further away, though an uneasy whisper ran through his heart, echoing _coward, coward, coward_. It had his uncle’s voice. 

Heavy footsteps on the deck alerted him to the presence of someone coming to stand beside him. He turned his head and was unsurprised to see Damianos next to him, looking back to the diminishing city as it gradually fell behind them. 

“You seem eager to leave this place behind,” Damianos remarked, looking over at Laurent.

Laurent fixed him with a discouraging stare, one that hopefully would forestall further questions. “My business is my own,” he said. 

Damianos seemed undaunted. He inclined his head. “Very well. Know, however, that if your past puts this crew in danger, you will be removed from this ship at the nearest port. I do not tolerate troublemakers.”

Laurent raised an eyebrow. “That’s rich, coming from a pirate.” 

Damianos froze beside him, then slowly turned to face him. 

Laurent made a derisive sound in his throat. “Did you think I was unaware? I know who you are, Damianos. _The Egeria_ is quite notorious to my people. As are you.”

“Your people.” He said it as a statement, but Laurent could hear the question underneath.

 _Damn_. He had slipped, and Damianos was attentive enough to notice. Most people did not use phrases like that. Laurent forced himself to keep his face blank. “Yes,” he said, his tone betraying nothing. “The people of my country. Does _The Veretian Queen_ mean anything to you?” 

Damianos was not quite as successful at hiding his emotions. He pressed his lips together, his hand going rigid on the railing. “I’ve heard of it,” he said, and Laurent noted—with some satisfaction—the tiny tremor of unease in his tone.

Laurent fixed him with a long, searing stare. _Heard of it_. Very well—if Damianos wanted to play this game, Laurent would play along. For now.

Damianos did not back down from his gaze, fixing him with a glare of his own that was quite impressive in its strength, considering it was coming from only one eye. 

“Since you know so much about me,” Damianos said, “perhaps it’s time to be on even footing. I will not ask more about your background, but I would appreciate your true name.” 

Laurent blinked. He was quite a good liar; it was a required skill when dealing with his uncle, and though he would never admit it, he was rather proud of it. It wasn’t often someone caught him in a lie. He rearranged his esteem of the man in front of him. He was no fool, and Laurent needed to tread carefully. 

He considered giving Damianos another false name, but the danger was mostly past now that Laurent was aboard and they were on their way. If Laurent could earn a modicum of trust, he may be able to use it to his advantage. 

“Laurent,” he said. “My name is Laurent.” 

He searched Damianos’s face for any sign of recognition, but other than a slight narrowing of his eye, Damianos didn’t react outside of a short nod. 

“I appreciate your candor,” he said finally. “It’s nice to _truly_ meet you. If you’d like, you can call me Damen. I'm told it’s less of a mouthful. Welcome aboard _The Egeria_ , Laurent.” 

With one last lingering look, Damianos turned and walked away, returning to his post at the ship’s helm and locking his gaze onto the horizon. Laurent watched him for a long time, and by the time he turned to look back at the city, it was gone.

***** 

There was something strange about the crew. Laurent couldn’t put his finger on it, but as the days passed, he became more and more convinced that there was something right before his eyes, something known to everyone but him. It drove him mad—he did not like being the only one in the dark. 

The men were hard workers, if perhaps a little rough around the edges. Laurent had known when he had chosen _The Egeria_ that he was no longer among nobles and courtiers. It was clear, however, that to them, he was nothing more than a soft, fragile boy. He had heard more than one comment about how he had been allowed on the ship only because the captain had wanted something prettier to look at than the rest of the crew. 

Laurent told himself it didn’t bother him. Let them think what they want. He was here for one purpose—to get away from his uncle. That was all that mattered. 

One afternoon, about a week after they had set sail, Laurent found himself the focus of one of the more coarse crewmembers. Lazar, Laurent remembered, was the master gunner, and held a fair amount of sway amongst the crew. His opinions often were mirrored in the other men. If Laurent could win him over...

Laurent was standing on the deck, taking a break from bending over navigational charts. He felt Lazar approach, circling around him like a shark on the hunt. 

“Careful, boy,” Lazar said, coming to stand in front of Laurent. “You wouldn’t want to burn that pretty fair skin of yours.” He gave Laurent a leering look, his eyes sliding down Laurent’s body in a way that left no doubt to what he was thinking. 

Laurent straightened his spine, ignoring the urge to curl into himself, to escape the gaze. It was something he had practiced often enough over the years, and to the outside eye, he knew nobody could tell. He leveled his coldest gaze at Lazar and smiled. It was a combination that he knew was disconcerting.

“Yes, thank you for the warning,” he said. “It would be tragic if I followed in your example of trying your best to acquire skin the color and texture of an overripe date.” 

Lazar narrowed his eyes, but did not make a move towards Laurent, as he had expected. He studied Laurent for a moment before speaking again.

“So what is it that brings a wealthy young man aboard such a wreck?” Other members of the crew had gathered, forming a small crowd around Laurent. “Surely you aren’t just here to fuck the captain.” 

Laurent had to resist the urge to look towards the quarterdeck, where Damen stood with his back to them, talking to Nikandros. He smiled at Lazar.

“Jealous?” he asked. “Forgive me, but you don’t quite seem his type.” 

The leer was back on Lazar’s face as he took a step forward. “I could be yours, though, sweetheart.” 

_Sweetheart_. It caused his blood to heat, though he allowed none of his anger to show on his face, hidden under a calm, cold smile. “I think you’ve misjudged my type. It does not typically include aging, ragged men who look like they spend more time being dragged by the ship than aboard it.” 

That wiped the smile off Lazar’s face as several of the watching men laughed. Laurent, feeling a trickle of the satisfaction that he always felt when engaged in conversations that he knew he was winning, continued. 

“What you seem to be saying,” he said, “is that I don’t look like I belong here. I admit, I am rather better dressed than you are. Perhaps you could let me borrow some of your rags, so that I could attempt to blend in better.”

An idea sparked in his mind, a way to perhaps earn a little respect from the crew. He looked around, his eyes lighting upon a man repairing a torn piece of sail. Walking over, he held his hand out.

“May I borrow that needle?” 

The man, looking nonplussed, gave it to him. It was long, sharp, and rather thicker than he would prefer, but it would do.

Turning back to Lazar, he walked straight up to him until he was no more than a pace away. Lazar was only an inch or two taller than him, staring at him warily as he approached. Laurent imagined that he hadn’t expected Laurent to stare him down holding a needle—he likely wondered where exactly Laurent intended to stab him with it. The thought was tempting. 

Instead, Laurent tilted his head, brushing some of his hair away from his ear, and stretched the earlobe as well as he could with one hand. He took a deep breath, clenched his jaw, and, without breaking eye contact with Lazar, pierced the needle through his ear in one quick, smooth motion. 

It hurt, and he didn't even want to think about how unclean it was, but Laurent forced himself to keep his expression the same, without even a flinch of pain. He left the needle in his ear as he reached in his pocket and drew out a long, glinting earring with several large sapphires dangling from it. It had been a gift, from Laurent’s favorite courtier. Nicaise, a young boy, was the closest thing Laurent had to a friend at court—and, with his uncle’s eye straying often to Nicaise, he had done his best to protect him. 

And then he had abandoned him. Laurent shook off his guilt. This wasn’t the time. 

Drawing the needle out as smoothly as he could, he quickly threaded the earring through his newly-pierced ear, ignoring the raw, burning throb that had begun. He lowered his hand, giving the men a good look. 

“There,” he said to Lazar. “Now I look a little more suited for a pirate ship, do I not?” Lazar didn’t respond, looking at him with a shrewd, calculating gaze. Laurent drew himself up to his full height, letting the smile slide from his face. “I’m not here because I’m fucking the captain,” he said, and he let his eyes wander to the other men, one by one. “I’m here because I have a job to do, and I’m good at it. If anyone gets in my way, they will find themselves looking up from their backs at the point of my sword.” 

There was a faint smile on Lazar’s face now, and Laurent could tell he was trying not to laugh at the thought of Laurent fighting anyone, though his expression was not without respect. Without looking away from Laurent, he tilted his head towards a handsome man to his left. 

“Pallas, go find our friend here some more appropriate clothing to match that lovely new jewel of his. He can save his fancy clothing for the captain.” He said the last part with a suggestive lift of his eyebrows. The young man named Pallas turned and disappeared below deck. 

“Are you done sizing up my navigator, Lazar?” came a deep, mild voice from behind Laurent. He looked over his shoulder to find Damen there, with Nikandros slightly behind him. Nikandros’s gaze, when it rested on Laurent, was decidedly less friendly than Damen’s. 

Lazar walked around Laurent, pausing at his side. “For now,” he said, and, with a theatrical wink, he walked away. The rest of the men dispersed to their respective posts. 

Laurent turned to face Damen. He watched as Damen noticed the jewel hanging from his ear. Damen opened his mouth to speak, blinked several times, then closed it. For a moment, there was nothing but the shouting of men and the charged air between the two of them. Then Damen swallowed, seeming to gather himself. 

“I don’t pay you to distract my men,” he finally said. 

Laurent lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t pay me at all.” 

Damen frowned. “Yes, well… I am the captain of this ship, and you are aboard it in exchange for your services. We need to be in Dardania by tomorrow night. I would appreciate it if you would get back to work.” 

Every bone in Laurent’s body rebelled against the commanding tone, but he forced himself to swallow down his displeasure. He took several slow steps forward, stopping just as he got to Damen’s side. There were barely a few inches between their shoulders. Laurent could feel each one of those inches like a livewire. Damen looked down at him, and Laurent could swear Damen had stopped breathing. 

“Of course, _Captain_ ,” Laurent said, adding a twist to the title that caused Damen's frown to deepen, holding his gaze with his own for a few exceedingly long seconds. He saw Damen’s eye slip to the earring again. Laurent wished he could tell what was going through his mind.

Letting the moment pass, Laurent turned and went back below the deck, returning to the warped maps and the long, tedious hours of calculations ahead of him. 

*****

Damen stood at the bow, letting the refreshing mist of the sea spray keep him cool. This was where he came when he wasn’t needed at the helm, when the wind filled their sails and they seemed to soar above the crests of the waves beneath them. The lion figurehead kept him company with his restless thoughts. 

And most of his thoughts, these days, were occupied with Laurent. 

The young man did have navigational skills, as it turned out, which seemed to both annoy Nikandros and set him at ease. Laurent was able to bring them safely and quickly to each port that Damen directed him to. Though Laurent didn’t ask what they sought, and Damen didn’t reveal any information, he could see the sharp questions in Laurent’s eyes as he looked at Damen over the maps spread in front of him. Damen met that challenging gaze, though those blue eyes were searing enough to make him want to look away.

Still, Laurent did as he was asked, and kept his curiosity buried, for now. Damen suspected that Laurent knew Damen would not give information freely, and the price would be Laurent’s own secrets. They stood on a tenuous bridge of understanding, neither of them revealing more information than was necessary. 

And yet Damen found himself drawn to Laurent and his barbed tongue, despite his better judgment, despite Nikandros’s continued warnings, despite all of his past experiences. The rest of the crew had accepted Laurent with little difficulty after the stunt with the earring, but he had earned himself the reputation of being somewhat similar to a lionfish—beautiful, elegant, and sharp, but, unless you wanted to get stung, you wouldn’t want to find one in your bed.

Damen rather thought that last part was up for debate. 

He closed his eye, shaking his head slightly. It was the earring, that’s all. It lent him an exotic, untouchable look that made Damen’s hands itch to test whether the _untouchable_ part was universal or just exclusive. 

He had caught himself more than once watching the dangling sapphires as they glinted in the low light above the maps, brushing against the sharp angle of Laurent’s jaw as he leaned over the table to show Damen something. He knew that Laurent had noticed the lingering gaze—once, Damen had sworn there had been a slightly proud glint in his eyes as he looked up and caught Damen staring. 

_You’re a damned fool,_ he thought to himself in a voice annoyingly similar to Nik’s. _Do not forget your purpose in favor of an arrogant, callous aristocrat, just because his hair is the color of the early morning sun and his eyes remind you of the sea._

Still, he was only a man, and it had been such a very long time...

“Captain.”

Damen was startled out of his brooding, turning towards the voice. He hoped that his thoughts were not obvious on his face. 

“What is it, Jord?” Damen asked, taking in the serious look on the man’s face. Jord was always serious, but the set of his jaw told Damen that something had happened. Before he could stop it, his mind immediately jumped to Laurent. Had he gotten into trouble with the crew?

“Word from the crow’s nest,” Jord replied. “There’s a ship on the horizon, and she’s gaining on us.” He paused, watching Damen warily before continuing carefully. “She’s flying Veretian colors, Captain.”

Damen swore. They had been careful. He had paid the port clerk handsomely to record the ship under a false name, and they had been docked less than four hours. There should be no reason that a Veretian ship was tracking them.

Cursed, indeed.

*****

Laurent was in the middle of a calculation that would bring them to their next port when he felt a subtle shift in the speed of the ship. Straightening and rubbing the kink from his neck, he paused, hearing the clamor of pounding footsteps on the deck above him. 

Something was happening. 

He emerged onto the deck straight into the midst of carefully contained chaos. Damen was at the helm, shouting instructions; men scrambled to batten down the hatches, stowing everything that was loose, trimming the sails and tightening the ropes. 

Laurent pushed down the spike of panic that threaded through his chest at the sight. There was no point in assuming the worst before he even knew what was going on. 

He slipped through the men, making his way to Damen, who was watching the horizon through a spyglass, oblivious to Laurent’s presence. Laurent followed the direction of his gaze, and it didn’t take him long to see what had set _The Egeria_ into motion. 

White sails glinted in the sun as the ship cut through the waves towards them. Laurent felt a familiar dread seep through his skin, though the ship was not nearly close enough to confirm his suspicions. 

“Let me see.”

Damen lowered the spyglass, looking over at Laurent in first surprise and then exasperation.

“Do you always order around your superiors?”

Laurent looked cooly back at him. “Not when they’re actually my superiors. Which is very rare.” He caught the flicker of indignation on Damen’s face before he reached over, grabbed the spyglass, and pointed it towards the ship. He heard Damen let out a resigned sigh.

All it took to confirm Laurent’s suspicions was a strong gust of wind, catching the fabric of the flag flying from the mizzenmast—blue on gold. The same flag that had once flown from the masts of _The Veretian Queen._ Below it, a flash of scarlet designated the ship as one of his uncle’s. 

Laurent lowered the spyglass slowly, his eyes never straying from the horizon. The ship was coming closer, like a predator upon the waves. He should have known his uncle would never let him out of his grasp so easily. 

“You should stay below deck.” 

Laurent turned his head to find Damen watching him. He didn’t even bother responding, and after a moment Damen let out a breath of a laugh and looked away. 

“You’re not trying to outrun them,” Laurent said after a few minutes of silence. In fact, _The Egeria_ had stopped, waiting for the Veretian ship to approach. 

“Of course not,” Damen said, as though it were obvious. “How exactly do you suppose we make profit out here? They don’t give you the name ‘pirate’ for running legal cargo from port to port.” 

Laurent chided himself for forgetting what ship he was on. Any vessel that came close enough would be boarded and raided, its supplies plundered and pillaged. 

Damen was watching him. “I suppose you have objections, given the fact that the ship is Veretian.” 

“I don’t want you to raid it,” Laurent said, and Damen nodded, his suspicions confirmed. Laurent let a long moment stretch out before he finished. “I want you to sink it.” 

Damen’s shock was palpable in the air between them. “You—what?”

Laurent turned to face him full-on. “I want you to sink the ship,” he repeated. “Do not board it, do not raid it, do not leave any survivors.” 

Damen’s gaze was searing, as though he were searching for answers beneath Laurent’s very skin. Laurent didn’t back down, but met his gaze with a resolute one of his own. It was imperative that word did not reach his uncle. 

“Dead men tell no tales,” Damen said quietly, almost a question.

Laurent nodded. “Quite.” 

“And why should I? You’re asking me to send valuable supplies to the bottom of the ocean. My men need to eat.” 

“Do they?” Laurent asked softly. “It’s strange, then, why I seem to always be eating alone. Perhaps I was not given the proper schedule for meals.” 

Their tenuous bridge of half-truths and omissions was growing shakier by the second, and Laurent had just shot a hole through it. Damen stared him down, his jaw clenched tight. 

“You haven’t answered my question. Why should I do this for you?” 

“Because I am part of your crew and your only navigator,” Laurent answered sharply, “and it is also very much in your best interest to ensure none of those men ever set foot upon land again.” 

Damen didn’t reply for a long time. He stared at Laurent—Laurent could practically see the thoughts churning like storm-tossed waves in Damen’s head—and then he turned to stare at the approaching ship. 

Time stretched on as they stood there in silence, and Laurent knew it would be unwise to break it. Then, making a decision, Damen moved to the front of the deck to shout down to his crew. “Bring us about!” he said in a booming, commanding voice that even Laurent felt compelled to obey. “We’re going to take her broadside. Ready the cannons—we give no quarter. Send her to the depths.” 

For a moment the crew froze, staring at Damen in shock. These were clearly not their usual orders. Lazar was the first to move, gesturing to his men to join him below deck at the gunports. It was a mark of their respect for Damen that the rest of them moved to do as they were told without any questions. 

“Nikandros is going to have my head for this,” he heard Damen mutter to himself, and then Damen was turning towards him again. He closed the distance until there was barely a breath between them. “You will have your wish,” he said in a low voice, “but when this is over, you and I have some talking to do. I will not ask any questions now, but be prepared to tell me why I am murdering a ship full of men who have not wronged me. I do not take the stain upon my soul lightly.” 

With that, he brushed past Laurent, moving to meet Nikandros, who was storming up the stairs with a furious look on his face. They were too far away for Laurent to hear clearly, but he was sure he heard his name more than once. 

He found himself unable to move his feet. _I do not take the stain upon my soul lightly_. It made no sense, not coming from Damianos. For all that he seemed to possess a mild nature, Laurent knew who he was, what he had done—he had more reason to know than anybody. Damianos had murdered before in cold blood, with no provocation. Why should it matter to him now? 

Laurent felt unsteady, and it wasn’t from the swell of the waves beneath his feet, nor the approach of his uncle's ship, but from the uncomfortable feeling that perhaps he was missing something—that perhaps, just maybe, he was wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

Damen watched the mast sink below the waves with a knot beneath his ribs. He felt tarnished, sullied, by what he had done. There were times that raiding an enemy ship had gone wrong, when they had been forced to fight, to kill—but it was never the aim, and Damen only did so when he had to.

Though of course, there had been... No, there was no use focusing on that now. He was already paying for that—every day of his existence was his continuous atonement. It would do no good to carry himself down that road, not when there were more pressing matters to attend to. 

He turned towards the aforementioned pressing matter, who was standing a few feet away from him. 

Laurent was staring at the floating debris that was all that remained of the ship. He looked at Damen as he approached and then, uncharacteristically, his eyes slid away again. Usually he met Damen’s gaze with a blazing one of his own. 

Laurent cleared his throat quietly. “Thank you,” he said stiffly without looking at Damen. 

Damen wasn’t going to accept that. Not if Laurent wouldn’t even look at him. He had just killed an entire ship full of men, just because Laurent had asked him to. He was going to have to do better than that. 

“Good, now let’s try it again—this time try to pretend that you mean it.” 

That earned him a sharp glare, which was at least progress.

“I do mean it,” Laurent said, each word looking like it cost him. 

Damen watched Laurent for a long moment, deciding if it was worth it to push him further. It was tempting—but he had other information that he needed. 

“Excellent. Then you can show your appreciation by joining me in my cabin and answering a few questions. Come.” He gestured towards his quarters with a tilt of his head. Laurent’s spine straightened as he clenched his jaw. He clearly didn’t like taking orders. 

Damen just smiled and walked past him. Part of him wondered if Laurent would merely refuse to follow, but he didn’t turn back to see. Laurent wasn’t in much of a position to protest.

Sure enough, when Damen pushed the door open to his cabin, he heard light footsteps behind him. He stood aside, letting Laurent pass. Damen watched him as he moved into the cabin. Without hesitation, Laurent sat at the table in Damen's favorite chair, as though this was _his_ cabin, as though this was all his idea. 

Damen didn’t know why he was surprised. 

"Please, come in," he said under his breath. He wasn't sure if Laurent heard, but he swore he saw a twitch at the edge of his mouth. 

He let the door swing shut with a small bang. Moving around the cabin, he lit several lanterns on the walls, then lit the candles on the table. The flickering light lent a warm, slightly eerie glow to the dark cabin.

Damen sat across from Laurent, pouring a glass of wine and sliding it across to him before pouring one of his own. Laurent merely looked impassively at the glass before turning his sharp gaze back to Damen. 

Taking a large swallow of wine, Damen leaned back. “You can look at me like that all you like,” he finally said. “You know what I want to know.” 

The blue eyes were unyielding. “Perhaps you were not as anonymous as you believed when you came to Vere. After all, you didn't even bother trying to hide your identity from me. You’re not exactly welcome there.” 

“It’s quite possible,” Damen said lightly, “but that would not account for your insistence to see them dead. Care to try again?” 

“Very well,” Laurent said after a lengthy, weighted pause. “The men aboard that ship were here for me.”

Damen pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to suppress the urge to throw Laurent overboard. “Do you think I am completely foolish? Don’t—” Damen said sharply as Laurent opened his mouth “—answer that. I know they were here for you. What I want to know is _why_.” 

“I...do not generally share personal details about my life with strangers. I believe I already told you that.” 

Damen stood up, bracing himself against the table and leaning forward, raising his voice slightly and letting the mild tone he usually adopted fall away. “And I do not generally murder men who have done nothing to me, and yet here we are. You _will_ tell me why.”

Laurent was staring up at him, the flickering of the candles throwing sharp shadows across his face. His expression shifted, and his eyes moved to his glass of wine, his long, elegant fingers absently tracing the rim. Then he took a deep breath. 

“The men on that ship were here to return me to Vere,” Laurent said reluctantly. “They were my uncle’s men.” 

Damen sat down, settling himself back and nodding. “That’s a good start. Go on.” 

“My uncle and I...do not get along,” Laurent said carefully. “A week before you and I met, he tried to kill me. Not for the first time.” 

Damen raised his eyebrows. “Where I’m from, ‘not getting along’ usually means bickering over the dinner table, not attempted murder.” 

He thought he saw a ghost of a smile cross Laurent’s face, but it was gone fast enough that he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t just the flickering light of the candles. 

“What can I say? My uncle and I have a—” Laurent paused, searching for the word “— _unique_ relationship.” 

“Clearly.” Damen let the silence stretch, but it became apparent that Laurent did not want to elaborate. Damen decided he needed a little encouragement. “So...why does your uncle want you dead? Besides the obvious reasons, I mean.” 

Laurent’s eyes narrowed. Damen had to admit that there was something exhilarating about provoking him. He didn’t examine that feeling too closely. 

Laurent watched him for a long time. There was a cold, calculating look on his face that dissuaded Damen from breaking the silence. Finally, Laurent leaned forward and began to speak. 

“As you have no doubt already deduced, my family is powerful and wealthy, and has been for generations. The inheritance of said power and wealth passed to my father, and was denied to my uncle. When my father and my elder brother died six years ago, the inheritance passed to me. And if something were to happen to me—” 

“It would go to your uncle,” Damen finished. Laurent nodded once. “So, naturally, you decided to do his work for him and run away.” 

Laurent’s glare was icy. “Perhaps you missed the part where he tried to kill me.” 

“On the contrary, that was my favorite part,” Damen said amiably, knowing the tone would vex Laurent. “I am curious, however—do you intend to return?” 

The question seemed to catch Laurent off guard. “I—” He stopped. Damen waited, ignoring the part of him that wanted Laurent to say _no_. “I want to. But I don’t know how to beat my uncle.” He said it with a grudging tone, as though admitting the truth to Damen was the last thing he wanted to do. 

Damen opened his mouth to tell Laurent that he would help, then closed it again. Returning to Vere wasn’t an option, not for him. He had already come too close to being caught. The royal family would be only too eager to have his head. 

“You are welcome here as long as you like,” he finally said. “And I will do my best to protect you while you are on this ship.” It was the best he could do. 

Laurent was staring at him again, the blue of his eyes reminiscent of the deepest, hottest part of a flame. Damen couldn’t decipher the careful, searching look on Laurent’s face. The silence stretched, and Damen found himself drawn to the way the candlelight enhanced Laurent’s features, sharpening the angles in his face, hollowing out shadows beneath his collarbone, glinting off the sapphires that brushed his jaw. Damen wondered if the skin there was as soft as it looked. 

“Why would you help me?” Laurent’s voice shook Damen from his distraction, and he blinked several times, hoping his thoughts were not apparent on his face. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” he responded. True, Laurent wasn’t exactly making his life easier, but... Damen didn’t allow himself to finish the thought. “You are a part of my crew, until you decide otherwise. I would do the same for any man aboard this ship.” 

Laurent seemed on the verge of saying something, but then he sat back and looked away, and the moment was broken. Damen took the opportunity to drain his glass. Laurent’s, he noticed with interest, was untouched. 

Laurent looked back at him. “I’ve told you what you wanted to know. Perhaps you will answer some questions for me in return.” 

Damen raised an eyebrow. “Such as?” 

Laurent’s eyes were bright. “They say that you are cursed.” 

“Is there a question there?”

“Yes.” 

He had no reason to tell Laurent the truth. He should refuse to answer, to keep his distance—and yet, here with just the two of them in this warm, private room, he found the words crowding the back of his throat, clamoring on his tongue to be spilled. Nikandros knew the whole story, of course, but they did not speak of it often. There was something about Laurent that made Damen want to share the burden that he usually carried alone.

He sighed, coming to a decision. “Yes, there is a curse.” 

Laurent said nothing, merely raised his eyebrows in an invitation—or, more accurately, a command—to continue. 

Damen gathered himself. He hadn’t told this story in a very long time. 

“Let’s dispense with the pretenses. You’re Veretian. You know what I did.” 

Damen watched Laurent swallow, then give one short nod. “You murdered the King and the Crown Prince.” 

It hurt Damen to hear it put that way, but he pushed it aside. “You know what I did,” he repeated, “but you don’t know why.” 

Laurent’s laugh was derisive and bitter. “Is this the part where you try to convince me that you were justified?”

“No,” Damen said. “I’m not telling you this to convince you of anything. I had my reasons. To me they were enough. To others…” He trailed off with a shrug. 

“Continue,” Laurent said tersely. 

“My father owned the biggest merchant fleet this side of the Ellosian. I was taught to sail almost as soon as I could walk. My older brother and I were raised on the sea.” Damen remembered how it had felt to have Kastor raise him up on his shoulders as they watched the sun set over the water. “As we got older, my father prepared both of us to take over the fleet. One day he sent Kastor out to sail on his own, while I stayed with him on the flagship.” 

Damen paused, but Laurent said nothing, just continued to stare Damen down with those endless blue eyes. Clearing his throat, Damen continued. 

“I don’t remember much about that day… although I do remember that it was clear and windy until the evening came along. I watched the sun set from the bow, and as soon as it had sunk beneath the water the wind died and a heavy bank of fog rolled in. It was eerie, ominous. I didn’t realize how ominous until I heard the shouts from the deck, and then they were on us.”

Damen went to take another drink of wine, and remembered his glass was empty. Silently, Laurent leaned forward, sliding his own untouched glass towards him. Staring at him, Damen reached for it, nodding his head in thanks. He took a long drink of it, the wine tethering him in the present as memories threatened to drag him into the past. 

“The first cannon nearly threw me overboard. My father had taken the helm, and as soon as I realized what was happening, I ran across the deck to join him.” Damen could smell the gunpowder, could feel the deep boom of cannons in his bones. “The deck was in chaos. I made it about halfway when the world split in two.” 

Damen paused, taking a deep, stabilizing breath. “They’d hit the main mast. I saw it splinter and the next thing I knew I was lying on the deck, unable to breathe. I turned my head just in time to watch as a cannon blast hit the helm. My father—” 

His throat tightened against the words, and he rose, turning his back to Laurent as he moved towards the window at the back of the cabin. He could see nothing, but he could hear the low, ever present roar of the water below him, a soothing anchor for his aching heart. 

“The last thing I saw before I lost consciousness,” Damen said, turning his head so Laurent could hear him, his eye trained on a knot in the wood of the floor, “was the sight of a flag through the fog. It was all I could see of the ship.” He turned, meeting the searing blue gaze that he knew, somehow, hadn’t left him. “A golden starburst on a blue background.” 

Laurent’s face was shuttered, but Damen could swear that he saw something flicker at those words. 

“Why would the Crown Prince attack your ship?” Laurent asked, his voice strangely detached. “There would be no reason for it.”

“No,” Damen said, raising his eyebrow, “there wouldn’t be. I cannot fathom what led them to attack that day. But I know what I saw.” He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “At the time, I didn’t know who the banner belonged to. I didn’t know that the King and the Prince were on board. All I knew was that that flag was my only clue to finding my father’s murderers. I burned it into my memory, and as my awareness faded, it remained, fluttering and flashing over and over again in my dreams.”

He paused, expecting Laurent to interject, but he remained silent. The stillness in his body was unnatural, his breathing barely even noticeable. Damen was beginning to understand that Laurent held tension as a constant companion. He felt a spark of curiosity as he wondered what had bred it in him, and if it ever left his body. He tried to imagine Laurent relaxed and open, and found his imagination utterly failing him. 

When it became clear that Laurent was not going to speak, Damen continued.

“I awoke on a beach, surrounded by the splintered remains of my father’s ship. I don’t know how much time had passed since the attack. There was no one else. I searched for days for a hint of what had happened to the rest of them, but I found nothing. Until I found her.

“It was my third day on the island. Or maybe the fourth, it was difficult to think straight by that point. I thought she was a mirage. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever set eyes upon—loose golden curls, sharp blue eyes, her skin like alabaster…”

Damen trailed off, finding himself staring into another set of sharp blue eyes, and he realized with a jolt just how much Laurent’s features resembled those of the woman on the beach. It seemed an ill omen.

He cleared his throat. 

“She was human by sight, but when she spoke, I knew that she was...something else. I was delirious with hunger and thirst, likely near death,” he continued. “She told me that she could not only get me off the island, but also provide me with a ship, a crew, and a path to my revenge upon the man who had sunk my father’s ship and killed him. For a price.” 

The cabin was dark, the candlelight dancing wildly across the room as a draft came in through a gap in the floorboards. Though it had been years ago, Damen felt the sun burning his skin, the dry rasp of a throat desperate for water, the gnaw of hunger like an animal clawing at his middle. 

“I’m sure you’re thinking that I should have known better than to make a bargain with a Siren,” he said with a rueful smile. “And you’d be right. I _should_ have. But getting off that island, and the promise of finding my father’s murderer… the pull was too strong, and I was weak. I didn’t even ask what the cost would be. I agreed.” 

Laurent had not looked away from him once since he had begun talking, his attention a nearly-physical weight upon Damen’s skin. “And what did it cost?” Laurent asked softly.

Damen stared at him. “Everything,” he finally said. “It cost me everything.”

*****

Laurent held himself very still, betraying nothing as Damen told his story. But within him a maelstrom had opened, devouring him as he listened to the man who had killed his father and brother describe what had led him to do it. 

He couldn’t understand why _The Veretian Queen_ would have attacked another ship. It defied all logic. As a royal family of one of the most influential nations on the Ellosian, the last thing his father would do is risk inciting a war. Besides, they had been on a personal trip at the time, a chance for their father to begin to prepare Auguste for the throne. It didn’t add up.

He said none of this as Damen continued. 

“She pulled the ship from the water,” Damen said, running his hand lovingly along the wall. “I watched as, before my eyes, the bones of a shipwreck became whole, the wood growing like a living thing over it. She weaved the sails from clouds, and formed the windows from sea glass. She shaped the lion from the waves and when it came in contact with the ship, it transformed into wood, caught forever in its fury.”

Laurent remembered the first time he had laid eyes on _The Egeria_ , how he had had the strange thought that the lion had been captured by the ship in the middle of a leap. 

“The crew—” Damen stopped, his eyes distant. 

“They aren’t— _alive_ , are they?” Laurent asked, voicing the suspicion that had grown within him over the weeks that he had been on board. Not once had he seen a single one of them eat, nor sleep, nor tire. 

Damen shook his head. “Neither are they dead. They are the lost souls of men condemned to wander, men who were not given a proper burial at sea. Each of them made a bargain with the Siren, and found themselves bound to my fate.” 

Laurent said nothing, waiting for Damen to continue. When he didn’t, Laurent broke the silence. 

“And your bargain?” he asked quietly. “Your cost?”

Damen walked slowly back over to the table and sat. He stared at the candle in the center of the table, the flame caught in the reflection of his eye as he sat unblinkingly. 

“I had my ship,” Damen said, and his voice was hollow, nearly unrecognizable. “And I had my crew. The Siren even revealed who the starburst banner belonged to, so that I might have my revenge. And I saw only what I had gained. A great gift.” He let out a breath, not quite a laugh, full of bitter self-contempt. “Only a fool barters with fate and expects to win.”

Laurent waited. He could sense Damen’s reluctance to continue, could see the words stuck in his throat as the muscles in his jaw clenched. He knew that Damen could not be rushed into this part. 

“As I lifted the anchor, she called out to me from the shore. Her voice—it was as though she were standing next to me, whispering into my ear, and shouting from a great distance, all at the same time. It makes no sense, I know, but…” He trailed off for a moment before continuing. 

“‘My gifts are not given freely, Damianos,’ she said. ‘In the name of the sand and the sea and the broken lives of the men who give their hearts to it, this is your curse, by which you shall be bound until it is fulfilled:

_Your soul shall be restless,  
You shall wander at sea,  
Your home shall be lost,  
Until you’re finally free._

_Misfortune will find you,  
Wherever you go,  
And betrayal shall haunt you,  
Trust no living soul._

_Heed me, be warned,  
Cast not the first stone,   
Return the true King  
To the stolen throne._

_One grievance runs deepest,  
A disastrous misdeed,  
It must be forgiven,  
For you to finally be freed.’"_

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and ominous, and Laurent felt a faint shiver run through him as Damen’s voice fell silent. Laurent had the sudden urge for Damen to look at him, but he continued to stare at the candle flame. 

“I felt it etch itself into my very bones, Laurent,” Damen said almost helplessly, and then he did lift his gaze to meet Laurent’s eyes. “Each word carved its way into me like a pronouncement of doom, like a sentence upon my soul. I can still hear her voice in my head, like a ship’s hull dragging on rocks, scraping and cracking and splintering.” 

“ _Trust no living soul_ ,” Laurent quoted softly. 

“I tried, in the beginning. It took me a long time to believe in the curse. I hired men to be part of the crew...but they all turned on me eventually, every single one. Nikandros is the only living soul on this ship besides myself,” Damen said. “And now—you.” 

Laurent studied Damen’s face. He was trying to hide his emotions, but he clearly hadn’t had the practice that Laurent did. Laurent could see the wariness that flickered in Damen’s eye, and something else that he couldn’t quite decipher. 

“Nikandros. He hasn’t betrayed you?”

Damen let out a short laugh. “He certainly has been tempted, many times. But the Siren clearly didn’t account for his stubbornness. After the third such temptation, I ordered him to leave the ship—I told him that it would be easier for him. He turned me down cold, saying _‘I don’t care what some damn Siren said. There isn’t a curse strong enough to break the vow I made to you when we were younger._ ’”

Laurent raised his eyebrows.

“It’s—a long story,” Damen said, seeing Laurent’s expression. “Nikandros and I grew up together. We have been very close for a very long time.” Laurent felt an absurd stab of jealousy, and something of it must have shown on his face, because Damen laughed, shaking his head. “Not like that. Nikandros is my closest friend. That’s all.”

Laurent spent a long moment chiding himself for such an uncharacteristic manifestation of his thoughts. It had been a long time since he had let something past his strict control. He was always careful to keep his emotions off his face, but Damen had a habit of disarming him. He wanted to call the feeling that thought caused _irritation_ , but it burned a little too hot for that. 

The silence stretched. Laurent let it for a little while longer, and then broke it. 

“Why?”

“Why what?” Damen asked, as though he had no idea what Laurent was asking. Laurent didn’t believe it, not for a moment. Still, if Damen wanted to hear him say it, Laurent would acquiesce. 

“Why did you allow me aboard this ship? How do you know I won’t betray you?”

Damen didn’t answer for a long moment. Then: “I don’t.” 

Laurent raised his eyebrows, another silent question. 

Damen took a deep breath in, then pushed it out slowly, sitting back in his chair. “I have no guarantee that you aren’t here to put a knife in my back and steal my ship. I only know that you haven’t yet, and that means something, at least to me.” 

Laurent should _want_ to put a knife in his back. He should feel nothing but ill will towards Damen. It was a betrayal to his brother’s memory to sit here across from the man who had killed him and share stories as though they were friends, as though they were…

Laurent pushed the rest of the unfinished thought aside. Damen’s gaze was warm upon his skin, and Laurent resisted the urge to shift under it. 

“The truth is,” Damen said, “I should never have let you on this ship.” Laurent’s heart skipped a few beats before resuming its usual rhythm. “Nikandros nearly had my head for it. He’s seen before what happens when I ignore the curse. But—” Damen broke off, and it looked as though he were debating whether or not to continue. Laurent saw a faint shift of his expression as he made his decision. “But from the moment I met you, there was something that drew me to you. I don’t know what it is. And if you don’t feel it too then I’ll never mention it again. But if you do…”

Laurent forced his lungs to keep his breathing steady, even as he felt a flush creep up his neck. There was nothing self-conscious about Damen’s gaze—or his admission—and Laurent forced himself to meet it unblinkingly. He thought of the long hours spent together over maps, the way that he was constantly aware of Damen’s presence. He should stop this right here, whatever it was. There was no place for sentiment between them. 

Laurent opened his mouth to send his usual searing retort across the table—anything that would push Damen away, that would keep distance between them. There was safety in distance. Closeness brought nothing but pain. 

“I feel it."

 _Damn it_. 

The words came out without permission from his mind, and he cursed himself. Damen’s eye flashed, his mouth curling into a small, pleased smile. The air between them was thick with the intimacy that comes from telling another your truths, laying them all out on the table for examination. Laurent thought of how Damen had held nothing back, and how he had told Damen only the barest bones of his own story. He had no idea who Laurent was, and just how tightly their lives were woven. 

Laurent cleared his throat and stood, breaking the moment. 

“Come,” he said, gesturing to the exit with a little jerk of his head. 

Damen stood, confusion crossing his face. “Where are we going?” 

Laurent turned his back to Damen, moving towards the door, knowing that Damen would follow. 

“To summon a Siren.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favorite chapter for multiple reasons. I hope you all enjoy it as well!

Damen was having a hard time focusing.

He should have thought of it himself. He had spent years searching for answers, seeking out war-torn countries in search of something that would break his curse, and had come up empty-handed, with nothing to show for it. It had never occurred to him to go back to the source. 

Summoning a Siren was not a task to undertake lightly. Everyone who took to the sea knew the songs about how to call a Siren to you—all you needed was a pure white triton shell to blow into and a heart full of desire. That wasn’t the difficult part. It was what came after that you had to watch out for. Damen knew better than most how dangerous Sirens could be, and you could not be distracted when one showed up. 

And yet, Damen couldn’t stop thinking of the way that Laurent had said “ _I feel it_ ”, the way he hadn’t looked away from Damen as he said it. 

Nikandros was going to kill him. 

There was no one else on deck, the night pressing in thickly like a cloak around them. Only the quarter moon hanging above the horizon lent them any light. It replaced all the golds that had gilded Laurent’s features in the candlelight with silver, bright and sharp and beautiful as a blade. 

Laurent walked over to the railing of the deck, wrapping one hand loosely around it as he looked out over the sea. Damen spent a moment longer admiring him, then walked slowly over to join him. 

Laurent reached into his pocket, not looking at Damen. When Damen looked down at what he pulled out, he had to stop himself from laughing. A pure white triton shell. Trust Laurent to have exactly what they needed. 

“Where did you get that?” Damen said, pitching his voice low to match the quiet of the night around them. 

“When we were in port at Westholt, I went down to the shore while you and your men stocked the ship. I found this half-buried in the sand. I know the songs—it’s what we need.” He held the shell out to Damen. 

Damen took it from him, weighing it in his palm. It was heavier than he expected, slightly bigger than his hand. The outer shell was rough and ridged, but the exposed curl of inner shell at its mouth was smooth as glass. Damen turned it, admiring it from all angles. 

“How did you know we would need to summon a Siren?” he asked, looking up at Laurent. 

Laurent shrugged one shoulder, looking down at the shell. “I didn’t. It didn’t cross my mind. I just thought the shell was beautiful, so I kept it.”

The shell _was_ lovely, alabaster glowing in the moonlight. He looked back up at Laurent, whose skin was the same pale pearl of the shell, though it looked infinitely softer. 

“It is beautiful,” he said softly, but he wasn’t talking about the shell anymore. Laurent lifted his eyes to Damen’s, the color bleached in the silver light, his lips slightly parted. Damen stepped closer, closing the gap between them to a mere breath. 

If he was being truthful, he expected Laurent to step back, to slam down the cold iron gates of his indifference and walk away. But Laurent stayed where he was, looking up at Damen, and so, slowly, Damen brought his empty hand up to brush away a lock of hair that had fallen across Laurent’s cheek. 

He was right—Laurent’s skin was as soft as the feather of a newly-fledged albatross. He saw Laurent’s eyelashes, tipped in silver, lower to brush his cheek as his eyes closed briefly at the touch, then opened again. Damen thought his heart may have relocated to his stomach. He saw Laurent swallow and followed the movement down the long column of his throat. 

He let his fingers curl around the shell of Laurent’s ear, then drift down to touch the dangling sapphires that hung from it, glinting in the moonlight. They were lovely on him, rich and cold and captivating, a perfect echo of their owner. 

Damen brought his fingers to rest just below Laurent’s jawline. Laurent’s pulse flitted against his fingertips, quick and light as the wings of a bird. He leaned down, watching closely for reluctance or unwillingness. He saw neither, though there was an unrecognizable emotion within Laurent’s eyes. Damen paused, giving Laurent the chance to pull away. 

When he didn’t, Damen closed the last distance between them and pressed his mouth gently to Laurent’s. 

The first kiss was little more than a brush of lips, a shared breath, but Damen felt something deep beneath his lungs shift and release, something he hadn’t realized had been locked up tight. Laurent was frozen beneath his touch, and for a second Damen thought he had judged this all wrong, that he had made a colossal mistake. But then he felt Laurent’s fingers tangle hesitantly in his hair, felt his lips part slightly as he leaned into the kiss.

How many times had he imagined this, over the last several weeks? There had been so many moments where he had wanted to, but nothing prepared him for how it actually felt as Laurent kissed him again. Damen was dizzy with it, delirious. He couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t make his heart beat at a normal rhythm. He didn’t want to ever stop. 

But eventually he did, breaking away with a small smile as he forced himself to take slow, deep breaths. He couldn’t quite read Laurent’s expression, though he returned Damen’s smile with a strangely demure one of his own. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Damen murmured. 

“I have some idea,” Laurent replied, the corners of his lips curling slightly higher. 

There were two things you needed to summon a Siren: a white triton shell, and a heart full of desire. Damen now had both, thanks to the man in front of him. Without looking away from Laurent, Damen lifted the shell to his mouth and, gathering as much breath as he had left, blew.

As kids, they had loved blowing in shells, each one a different sound—this one like the honk of a goose, that one like the wind blowing over the mouth of a glass bottle. Every once in a while, you would get lucky enough to find one that made a note as sweet as a song. 

The sound that came out of the pure white triton shell was unlike anything Damen had ever heard. It was a high, lonely, otherworldly note, enough to make his hair stand on end and raise goosebumps on his skin. In it Damen could hear the cry of a lover lost at sea, and the creak of a shipwreck being slowly crushed by water, and the call of a seal pup searching for its mother. He looked at Laurent and was glad to find the same disconcerted look that Damen knew was on his own face. 

The note hung in the air long after Damen lowered the shell, echoing around them in the still night. They both searched the dark for some sign that it had worked, for some movement on the deck or beyond the ship. 

“Well, well, well,” came a voice from behind them, a voice that Damen remembered, a voice that stopped his heart cold. “It’s so nice to feel wanted. Come, show me the faces of those who would dare to call upon me.” 

Damen looked at Laurent, and together they turned. 

There, standing in the middle of the deck, was the Siren.

*****

She was beautiful in the way that the sea is beautiful—wild and everchanging and ready at any moment to dash you against the rocky shore, to pull you into the depths and drown you while you smiled. She should have held no lure to Laurent, even with her beauty, and yet he could look nowhere else.

When he was finally able to tear his eyes away, he glanced over at Damen, expecting to see awe or infatuation or desire. Instead, to his surprise, he found only wariness and a layer of suppressed anger, held carefully in check. His composure was impressive. 

The Siren surveyed them, her long, blonde hair drifting eerily around her face even though the air was still—as though she were underwater, he thought—and then she smiled. With a shiver, Laurent realized her teeth were pointed, sharp. Though on the surface she appeared human, she was anything but. 

“Well isn’t this a treat,” she said, her piercing gaze flickering between Damen and Laurent. 

Her voice was water over rocks, and howling hurricane winds, and the aching, lonely call of a blue whale. Laurent wanted to put his hands over his ears to block out the sound of it, but at the same time it beckoned to his very bones, and he found himself taking a step forward before he felt a hand on his arm. Damen’s, holding him back, his eyes never leaving the Siren. 

The Siren’s attention fell on Damen, and she cocked her head, a quick, unnatural movement that gave her away as something _other_. “I don’t often encounter my previous—acquaintances—a second time.” 

“Yes, I imagine most of them are dead within the year,” Damen replied coldly, his eyes narrowed. “As like as not, that was the fate you had designed for me as well.” 

“I’ll admit that it is quite remarkable that you haven’t encountered—” her eyes cut to Laurent, and he didn’t like the knowing gleam in them “— _difficulties_. How fascinating.” 

Laurent looked away. 

“I’ve had plenty of difficulties,” Damen said, apparently missing this brief exchange. 

“Yes,” she said, scanning him with a look that seemed to see right through him. She drifted towards him, closing the gap until she was directly in front of Damen, less than a foot between them. Though he was much taller, her proximity was threatening.

To Damen’s credit, he did not back away, though the impulse to do so must have been nearly overpowering. The Siren lifted one long, elegant finger and trailed her sharp nail lightly along the skin next to the patch on Damen’s eye. The threat was implicit. Laurent saw Damen swallow hard, though he allowed no other reaction to show.

“Since both of your eyes were intact when we last spoke,” she said in a soft, menacing voice, “I suspect you discovered that my curse was not just hollow words.” 

Damen didn’t respond. 

“I warned you not to strike unthinkingly,” she said, turning to move in a slow circle around Damen, her finger dragging down his neck. Damen continued to stare straight ahead, visibly suppressing a shiver at the touch. “Vengeance is such a blinding emotion. A window through which the truth can never be seen, showing you only a reflection of that which your heart wants desperately to be true.”

“What,” Damen said through clenched teeth without turning towards her, “are you saying? Speak plainly.” 

“Very well, if you wish.” She was behind Damen now, and she turned her gaze to Laurent, smiling that terrible smile again. Dread coursed through him. “When you left me, you found what you thought you sought, did you not? A ship, containing the men who killed your father, and very nearly killed you.”

Damen did turn to her then, his brow furrowed. “Yes, I found it. I served my justice. What of it?”

“Are you _certain_ that the men aboard that ship were the ones responsible? It would be tragic if you condemned innocent men to die.” 

Laurent couldn’t feel his fingertips. Damen’s face had paled beneath his dark skin, visible even in the cloak of night. “Of course I’m certain,” Damen said, though there was the slightest quiver in his voice. “I saw it with my own eyes.” 

“And yet,” the Siren said, her voice seeming to ring through the air, “human eyes can so easily be deceived.” 

A sudden breeze sprang up, combing its cool fingers through Laurent’s hair. A veil of mist surrounded the Siren, and as quickly as it had appeared, it dissipated, the breeze dying with it. Laurent blinked and, with a sharp inhale, stumbled back a step, only barely managing to keep his balance. 

There in front of him, where the Siren had stood, was Auguste. 

He looked just as he had the last time Laurent had seen him—long blond hair tied back, tall and strong and handsome. A logical voice in his head whispered that this was a trick, that Sirens could change their appearance at will, but his heart refused to give up the foolish hope that had sparked at the sight of Auguste, mere feet away from him. 

Damen had stumbled back as well, staring at Auguste with horror. “What—” His voice was strangled. 

The surge of hope that had flared within Laurent at the sight of his brother died, a candle snuffed in the wind, as soon as Auguste—or rather, the Siren who had stolen his likeness—spoke. It was Auguste’s voice, but Laurent could hear the same otherworldly echo in it as before: the sound of the wind blowing through an empty shell, of a gull calling from far overhead, of thunder as a storm rolls in. 

“Prince Auguste of Vere,” the Siren said, watching Damen with a cruel delight that twisted Auguste's features into an unfamiliar face, “did not kill your father.” 

Damen seemed to be struggling to breathe. His hands were clenched into fists at his side, his eye wide and unblinking. “You’re lying.”

A part of Laurent registered that Damen’s reaction was not one that belonged to a man who thoughtlessly murdered without reason. His brain felt like cotton—something was shifting in his understanding, and somewhere deep down, pieces were starting to fall into place, but he could not focus on what they were forming.

“Sirens cannot lie,” that terrible voice responded. “We can only use appearances to deceive. And even then, we may only use the deepest desires of those whose eyes perceive us. I speak the truth.” 

Damen took another unsteady step back, looking like he had been struck. “Then I—then that means—” His voice shook, and he didn’t finish the sentence. His eye darted around, as though searching for something to steady him. He blinked quickly, then looked back at the Siren, grasping. “You’re lying. You can’t appear as Auguste. There is no reality in which I would desire to see him.” 

Those sharp teeth were revealed again as the creature pretending to be Auguste smiled. “Ah, but you are not the only one whose desire I can feed upon.” Laurent felt a cold shiver trickle down his spine as the Siren turned her full attention to him. 

Damen had frozen, and then his gaze moved to Laurent in confusion. The Siren glided towards Laurent, coming to stand at his side. Seeing Auguste’s features so near, close enough to touch, felt like a hot knife sliding between his ribs, stealing his breath away.

“The resemblance is astonishing, is it not?” the Siren said, speaking to Damen, but continuing to study Laurent. “The same bright hair, the same blue eyes, the same pale skin… were it not for the age difference, they could be mistaken for twins instead of merely brothers—” here the Siren paused and looked over at Damen, savoring the next words “—Prince Auguste and Prince Laurent.” 

Understanding flooded across Damen’s features, and then there was shock, and horror, and anguish, all passing one after the other over his face in a quick succession of emotions. He backed away, only able to take a few steps before his back met the sturdy wood of the mast. He reached behind him with a shaking hand, attempting to steady himself against it. 

Laurent wanted to feel vindication. He wanted to use Damen’s pain to fill the void that had existed in his chest for six years. But all he felt was numbness, and a hollow ache that threatened to engulf him, and the fevered echo of Damen’s mouth pressed against his own.

“Laurent,” Damen pleaded, and something twisted within him at the sound of it. “It isn’t possible.” It wasn’t quite a question. 

Laurent said nothing. It was answer enough. 

“You miss him terribly,” the Siren said, drawing Laurent’s eyes back to his brother’s face. “He was your only protector—your only _friend_. How your heart aches for him. When you dream, you imagine he’s by your side, between you and your uncle. And then you awaken and he’s gone again, stolen over and over from you by a man who didn’t even know his name.” 

Laurent hated that the Siren could see into his thoughts, could see all of the things that he spent so much time hiding from the world. Shame, hot and bitter, filled him as he thought of what she must now know. Would she tell Damen? The thought made him sick. 

"Get out of my head," he said with as much venom as he possessed. 

Her laughter filled the air, cold and biting. “Worry not, young Prince. Shame and grief are tasty snacks, but I have something much more satisfying to feed upon. Desire—so rich and flavorful, the main course at a feast held in my honor.” 

The Siren’s gaze slid away from Laurent, and he took a deep breath in through lungs that could suddenly hold air again. It was like her attention had been slowly crushing him, and he could only feel it when it was gone. He felt shaky and clammy, and forced himself to stop the tremors, wiping his face of the tumultuous emotions rolling through him. 

Auguste-who-was-not-Auguste turned and walked towards Damen, who was staring at Laurent as though he was a spectre. His eyes begged Laurent to refute everything the Siren had said, to reassure him that none of it was true. Laurent did not do him the disservice of looking away, but he had nothing to offer Damen that would give him the comfort he sought. 

“I see your heart, Damianos,” the Siren said hungrily, and Damen’s eye moved to watch her as she stalked closer. “I could gorge myself on your desire. It’s even richer than your desperation for revenge, seasoned by your newfound knowledge of the man before you.” 

The mist descended again, wrapping around Auguste, hiding his face from view before Laurent realized that he would probably never see it again. The wound inside him opened up fresh, a scab that hadn’t yet healed. He reeled with it, wishing he was standing on solid ground so he could rid himself of the unsteady shake of his legs beneath him. 

Before the shock of losing Auguste again had passed, the mist cleared and, with another disorienting jolt, Laurent found himself looking at his own face. 

The Siren had made him both more beautiful and more terrible than he was, his hair like starlight, the ruthless edge that Laurent knew he sometimes possessed sharpened into cruelty, the sharp teeth of his smile like a threat. His skin was almost glowing in the moonlight, dusted with a pearly sheen, and his eyes were the deep, cool blue of the ice found in the heart of a glacier. 

Damen’s eye flitted between the two Laurents, his face troubled. 

“You’ve been so lonely,” the Siren said in Laurent’s twisted voice, both familiar and not, “for so long. No father, no home, no lover. One friend, tempted by betrayal at every turn, and a crew of lost souls. There is no love there, only the tie of those whose destinies are bound together. And then—” the Siren’s eyes slid back to Laurent, an unnatural, living version of a mirror, “—our lovely Prince happens to show up on your dock, admiring your ship.” 

“Stop.” Damen’s voice was forceful. But the Siren forged on, unphased. 

“He woke something within you that has been sleeping for a very long time.” The Siren inhaled deeply, as though smelling something sweet in the air. “Those long nights spent over maps, as you steadily felt yourself more and more drawn to him. Even his ice entices you—how you long to see if you could melt it.”

Damen closed his eye, avoiding Laurent’s gaze. 

“And then the kiss you used to call me. It has been a long time since I’ve been summoned with such potent desire. Tell me, Damianos—do you truly believe he could feel anything other than hatred for the man who sent his brother to a watery grave? Would you like to know the thoughts that swirl in eddies around his mind?”

 _Please, no._ Laurent couldn’t help the silent plea. The Siren looked over at him, eyes glinting callously. Nothing was hidden in his head—nothing was safe from the creature. He felt violated. His mind was the only thing that he had left that belonged only to him. 

“If he wants me to know what he thinks,” Damen said harshly to the Siren, lifting his chin, “he will tell me himself. You have no right to share anything he doesn’t wish me to know. Root around my head all you like—I have nothing to hide.” 

The Siren’s laugh was vicious. “Unfortunately, Damianos, I believe that’s true. But you truly aren’t curious about his feelings towards you? He’s known who you were the entire time, you know. What kind of heart, I wonder, must one possess to allow his brother’s killer to kiss him?” The Siren turned her attention to Laurent once more, eyes gleaming. “Or perhaps he doesn’t possess a heart at all.” 

“Enough, Siren,” Laurent said, finally finding his voice. “You know why we have summoned you. Tell us what we want to know.” 

Another veil of mist and then the Siren was back in her original form, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glazed with satiation. It was an enormous relief to have his own face gone, those terrible eyes off of him. 

“And what do you offer me, Prince?” she asked, leering. “I give nothing for free.”

“We have already paid,” Laurent replied coldly. “We fed you from our thoughts and our hearts. More than you could hope for.”

Her eyes gleamed. “True enough. Very well. You have indeed given me a feast, and I am feeling generous, so I shall offer you a gift.” She looked over at Damen. “I spoke the truth when I told you that Auguste had nothing to do with the attack on your father’s ship. It was your brother Kastor who staged the attack—” she looked back to Laurent, a predator’s smile forming once more on her lovely face, “—with the help of your uncle.” 

Laurent saw his own shock echoed on Damen’s face as their eyes met. Whatever they had expected to hear, it was not this. 

“I don’t understand.” 

The Siren’s laugh was sharp. “I’m sure you don’t, young Prince. It was your uncle’s idea. He heard whispers of unrest within a distant trade empire, a greedy son who wanted it all for himself. He saw an opportunity to get rid of his own obstacles in the process. Did you know,” she said with a purr, “that you were supposed to be on that ship as well when it sank? But you became ill two days before they set sail, and your brother insisted you stay home and get well.”

A memory flickered in Laurent’s mind. _You can come next time,_ Auguste had said, pushing Laurent’s hair back from his fevered skin. _It wouldn’t be any fun to be sick on a ship anyways. We’ll be back before you know it. I promise._

Promises. Auguste had made so many of them. They hung, broken and unfulfilled, in the spaces between Laurent’s ribs. 

“It was simple, really, to disguise the rogue ship that Kastor hired. All I had to do was shroud everything in mist except the false flag that flew from the mast. Did you think it was chance that allowed you to survive a wreck that killed all others, Damianos? No… it was designed so. Your brother knew that your rage would be overpowering, that you would seek out those who you believed responsible. And when you did, both his obstacles and those of Laurent’s uncle would be eliminated.” 

“But—why would my brother leave me alive?” Damen asked. “Surely he knew that I would return eventually.” 

“I didn’t find you by accident, Damianos,” the Siren said. “Your curse was meant to kill you after you had buried _The Veretian Queen_ beneath the waves. Somehow, you have evaded that fate. How much longer do you think you can run from it?” 

“Why?” Laurent asked, drawing her unsettling attention back to him. “Why help them?”

“They fed me, of course. Their desires were... _unusual_ ,” she said, with a knowing flash of those serrated teeth that made Laurent’s stomach clench, “but there was plenty to feast upon. The desire for power is not quite as savory as carnal desire, it’s true, but I didn’t need to feed for _weeks_ afterwards. It was well worth a little mist and an unimaginative curse.”

Laurent looked to Damen, but he was resolutely avoiding his gaze. 

“Tell us how to break the curse.” Laurent’s voice was as unyielding as he could make it, much steadier than he felt. 

Her laughter was brittle as newly-frozen sea ice. “The answer is there. I’ve told you everything you need to know. Surely, between the two of you, you can figure it out.” 

“That’s not enough.” 

The Siren straightened, her cruel smile fading—though the cruelty only deepened—and her eyes sparking with unearthly anger. 

“I do not do your bidding, Prince,” she said, and her voice was terrible, echoing inside their heads, the howl of a maelstrom threatening to swallow them whole. “I have given you my mercy, but my patience has reached its end. Do not presume to command me. I answer only to the sea.” 

Laurent stumbled as the water beneath the ship suddenly became choppy, slapping against the sides angrily. Sea spray pelted his face, forcing him to squint against it, each drop of water landing like a needle against his skin. Through his slitted eyelids, he saw the mist gather around the Siren once more as a strong wind whipped around him, clawing at his clothes. 

And then, in the blink of an eye, the sea quieted, the wind died, the mist scattered into nothing. 

The Siren was gone. 

Laurent looked at Damen, who was staring at the deck where the Siren had been mere moments before. Laurent followed his gaze, his eyes catching on something glinting in the moonlight. 

Where the Siren had stood, there remained only a pool of saltwater and the bright, pale gleam of a pure white triton shell.

*****

Damen stared out of the warped panes of the window, a glass of strong white liquor hanging loosely from his fingertips. He had already downed two others, hoping it would help. It had done nothing but make his head spin even worse than it already was. He pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window, hoping it would soothe his fevered skin. The water beyond the window was calm, as quiet as any sea he had sailed. 

Inside his head, his thoughts churned and swirled like storm-tossed waves, a direct contrast to the world outside it. 

_How_ could he have not seen it? How could he have not known? He saw Auguste’s face in his nightmares nearly every night, staring at him with condemnation as fire billowed around him, watching him as he slipped beneath the water until he was lost to the depths. How could he have not seen the resemblance? 

He remembered how Laurent had described his family: wealthy, powerful, with a strict inheritance. Anyone but Damen would have seen that for what it was—royalty. Nikandros had warned him to look past Laurent’s captivating features, but he hadn’t listened. And now here he was, with the man who most wanted to kill him aboard his ship at his own invitation. 

After the Siren had disappeared, Laurent had walked slowly over to the shell that was left in her place. He had leaned down, picked it up, and then raised his eyes to Damen. Suddenly it had been unbearable for Damen to look at him—he had turned and fled, retreating to his cabin without a word to Laurent. 

_Coward_. Voices rang in his head, calling him out for what he was. _Fool. Murderer_. He knew they were all right, but he closed his eye and pressed a hand against his temple, wishing they would go silent. 

He was stilled by the sound of the door creaking open behind him, then closing gently. He did not turn. He did not need to. 

“It’s generally considered polite to knock,” he said, his voice coming out strange.

“I rather thought we were past polite,” Laurent’s insouciant voice said behind him. “Though if you’d like, I can go out and enter again after observing the proper societal nonsense.” 

Damen took a deep breath, then turned, forcing himself to look at Laurent. He scanned his face for something, anything, that would tell him what Laurent was thinking. There was nothing, just a perfectly blank mask and unreadable blue eyes. 

“I’d ask why you’re here,” Damen said, “but I suspect I already know.” 

Laurent raised his eyebrows. “Oh? I don’t like being predictable. Do tell.” 

Instead of speaking, Damen reached down to his belt, unclipping his knife and tossing it towards Laurent. It landed with a loud thump, sliding a few feet before coming to rest at Laurent’s feet. 

Laurent stared at it for a long moment, then leaned slowly down to pick it up. He drew it, letting the sheath drop at his side. He examined the knife, turning it from one side to another, watching the candlelight glint off the sharp steel. Damen’s heart beat once, twice, and then Laurent lifted his eyes to Damen, looking at him as though he could see straight through to Damen's very soul.

“You would arm me yourself? You have a truly unique lack of self-preservation.” 

“There is nothing to preserve,” Damen said. “I murdered your brother.” 

“Yes, you did,” Laurent said, his eyes flashing, “and my father, too. Would you just stand there, then, as I took my revenge?”

“My life is yours,” Damen said with a hard swallow, “to take as you’d like. I will not stop you.” 

Laurent took a careful step forward, then another, his eyes never leaving Damen. Damen’s gaze flickered unwillingly to the knife, grasped tightly in Laurent’s fingers, then back up as Laurent moved closer and closer. He was sure that Laurent could hear his heart hammering against his ribs. 

Laurent’s proximity affected Damen as it always did, with an extra edge of danger laced through the usual electric current. Despite his resolve, his body rebelled at the thought of the knife, and he had to lock his muscles against the urge to move. 

Gently, slowly, Laurent raised the knife, and Damen swallowed as the cold edge of it brushed against his throat. Laurent pressed it lightly just beneath his pulse, not enough to break skin—just enough for Damen to feel it, to know that death was a moment away, to know that he was alive only at Laurent's mercy. 

“Why did you kiss me?” Laurent asked, not moving the knife. 

Uncertain, Damen looked down at Laurent. This was not the subject Damen had thought they would be discussing while Laurent was holding a knife to his throat. Carefully, so as to not encourage the knife to part his skin, Damen answered. “Because I wanted to.” No, that wasn’t quite right. “Because you're the first thing I think about when I wake and the last thing I think about before I sleep, and even my dreams are filled with the burn of your eyes. Because I wanted _you_.” 

Laurent was silent, almost completely still as he examined Damen. “And now?”

So this was his plan. To force Damen to admit his feelings, to make Damen feel the pain of rejection before he killed him. He closed his eye, breathing shallowly through his nose. He thought of Auguste, of the past six miserable years of his life, and asked himself if he could really love the brother of the man he killed. 

The answer came quickly enough.

“I would want you for the rest of my life, as short as that may be,” he said without opening his eye. He didn’t want to see Laurent’s face as he said it, didn't want to see the contempt or distaste or, worse than that, complete indifference. “I would want you whether you were a navigator or a Prince, whether you hated me or not.” 

The knife slid lower, gentle as the touch of a lover, resting now just above Damen’s collarbone. He opened his eye, meeting Laurent’s searing scrutiny. 

“You told the Siren that you did not wish to know what I was thinking. Why?”

Damen didn’t understand why Laurent was asking, but he answered anyways. “Because they were not her thoughts to tell,” he said, thinking it was obvious. “If you want to divulge the depth of your hatred for me, I doubt you will hesitate, but no one deserves to have their mind invaded and exposed against their will.” 

Laurent let out a breath of a laugh that Damen couldn’t decipher. “I do hate you,” he said, and though Damen expected it, _deserved_ it, it still hurt. But Laurent wasn’t done. “I hate you for making it impossible to hate you.” 

The knife was lifting from Damen’s neck, and he felt his brow furrow as Laurent stepped back, turning away, walking towards the table and setting the knife down on its surface. He kept his back turned as he continued. 

“I dreamed of finding you, you know,” he said, and Damen wished he could see his face. “I dreamed of what I would do when I did. And then when you told me your name on that dock, I thought it was fate, finally giving me my chance.”

Damen didn’t move, his muscles frozen. 

“I bided my time. I needed to get far away from my uncle, so I couldn’t kill you too soon. But then—” His voice trailed off into silence. “—then you were kind, and smart, and gentle. You were nothing like the man I imagined killing my brother. And when you stood close to me, it felt like standing on a beach right before lightning hits the sand. When you touched me, I forgot who you were. And I hated you for that most of all.” 

He turned to Damen, who scarcely dared to breathe. His heart, which had been racing a few seconds before, was now barely beating as he watched Laurent move towards him again, leaving the knife behind. 

“I wanted to kill you for what you did to my family. And yet, is that not why you did it in the first place? Because you sought payment for the murder of your own? How can I condemn you, when I myself would take up the mantle of vengeance as easily as you did?”

Hope was a bird in his chest, beating against his ribs, but he dared not believe it. It was impossible. It was a trick, his final punishment for his crimes, one last torture.

“I am truly sorry, Laurent,” Damen said softly. 

The blue of Laurent’s eyes was fire upon Damen’s skin. And then he was reaching up with one long, elegant hand, bringing it to rest upon Damen’s chest, his fingertips skimming the skin just beneath the hollow of his throat where the knife had been just moments before. And that, too, felt like fire. 

Laurent leaned up, bringing his mouth to Damen’s ear. His breath was warm and fleeting, sending shivers down Damen’s skin. 

_“I forgive you, Damianos.”_

It was as though he had been struck, or as if the ship had been struck, or as if the very earth had been struck, an impact that shook him to his core. It was like something had been misaligned within him, something that now finally found its place and settled, shifting everything with it. He took a deep breath into lungs that suddenly seemed to hold twice as much air, feeling as though he had shed shackles that he hadn’t known he was wearing. 

From somewhere distant came an unearthly echo of a laugh, and upon the table, where Damen had set it absentmindedly when he had come in, the triton shell he had used to call the Siren shattered into pieces. 

Laurent stared at it with wide blue eyes, then looked back at Damen. 

“I don’t understand.”

Damen recited the words quietly, barely more than a breath.

_“One betrayal runs deepest,  
A disastrous misdeed,  
It must be forgiven,  
For you to finally be freed.” _

Laurent stared up at him as understanding flooded his eyes. 

“The first part of the curse, Laurent,” Damen said in stunned disbelief. “You’ve broken it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I had THE MOST FUN writing the Siren. Just all the fun. I don't know what that says about me.


	4. Chapter 4

It had not been difficult to surmise the rest. Laurent had suspected it since Damen had first spoken the curse. It couldn’t be a coincidence that he was able to break one piece of it while another piece spoke of a stolen throne. He was sure of it. Laurent wasn’t convinced that he believed in destiny, but he had to admit that this had a certain inevitable feel to it.

To finish breaking the curse, they would have to kill Laurent’s uncle. 

Damen would have gotten there, too, with more time. To be fair, he had had a rather shocking evening. The Siren had not been careful with his heart. 

She had not exactly been kind to Laurent’s either. He could still see Auguste’s face, standing so close he could have reached out and touched him. But the cruelty that had existed on his face had never existed there in life. It was a small comfort. 

He turned slightly, sliding closer to Damen where he slept beside him. The emotion that pooled in his chest was a convoluted, confusing one. His instinct was to bury himself in self-hatred, in guilt. He heard the words that the Siren had said: _What kind of heart, I wonder, must one possess to allow his brother’s killer to kiss him? Or perhaps he doesn’t possess a heart at all._

But if he didn’t have a heart, then he would surely not feel like something had cleaved in two beneath his lungs, the space between the split halves filled with a bright, untarnished feeling that Laurent had never felt before. 

_I forgive you, Damianos._ He had never thought those words would leave his lips. And yet they had felt right. He suspected that he had already begun to forgive Damen before tonight, as he had slowly come to know him these past weeks. But when he had seen Damen’s reaction to the Siren’s revelation that he had killed Auguste under false assumptions, Laurent had known. Damen had been tricked into it. He would never have done it if Laurent’s uncle hadn’t planned it.

And as Laurent knew from personal experience, his uncle's plans were difficult to evade. 

Damen had truly believed that Laurent was going to kill him—Laurent had seen it in his eye, beneath the gleam of the candlelight reflecting there, beneath the blazing intensity with which he had watched Laurent. And yet he had stood there, entirely still, and allowed Laurent to approach, to press the blade of the knife against his throat. He had been ready to pay his penance in blood, to hand Laurent his life willingly. 

He reached out a tentative hand, ready to pull it back, but Damen was sleeping deeply, his chest rising and falling rhythmically with his breaths. With only the lightest of touches, he moved a lock of curly, dark hair off of Damen’s forehead, then allowed his fingers to trail across Damen’s skin. He traced a scar that ran from his temple beneath his eyepatch and ended halfway down his cheek. It was an old wound, but he could tell it had been brutal when Damen had received it. He wondered what had happened. 

He found himself thinking of how they would have time after this was all over, and he could ask, about everything. They could learn each other slowly, the full truth of themselves this time. It was an innocent thought, but Laurent realized it betrayed him—he was in much deeper than he had thought. 

It terrified him. 

He forced himself to breathe evenly, to calm the storm that threatened to overtake him at the thought of becoming so attached to this man so quickly. What would his father think? What would Auguste think? 

No. Laurent knew Auguste better than he sometimes knew himself. Auguste would have forgiven him. He had cared about Laurent’s happiness above all else. 

And the feeling beneath his ribs, Laurent realized, was _happiness_. 

Damen stirred, and then he was blinking awake. Laurent resisted the impulse to slide away, to put distance between them. Some habits were hard to break. 

Damen smiled as soon as he saw Laurent beside him. He turned on his side and braced himself on his elbow, bringing his other hand up to cup Laurent’s cheek. The touch felt like lightning, as all of Damen’s touches did. Damen leaned forward, and Laurent was once again overtaken with his physical presence. Laurent was not small, but Damen was absurdly large. Somehow, though, instead of feeling like a threat, it felt like safety. 

Laurent felt his breath leave his lungs as Damen kissed him. They had shared several since Laurent had said the words that had shattered the shell on the table, and still it sent his pulse skyrocketing. Damen shifted and pressed Laurent down into the bedding. Laurent went willingly. 

When Damen broke the kiss some time later, he stayed there, looming over Laurent as he looked down at him, his fingers combing through Laurent’s hair where it fell against the pillow. 

“Tell me this isn't another of the Siren's illusions,” Damen breathed. 

Laurent smiled. “It isn't, though I suspect that an illusion of me would say the same,” he replied, and lifted himself up so that he could capture Damen’s mouth with his own once more. He was in completely unexplored territory here, and part of him was insecure in taking what he wanted. But Damen was so giving, and so obviously enthralled by Laurent, that he let himself have it. 

He paused so he could catch his breath, and let his head fall back to rest on the pillow. “Can I ask you a question?” 

Damen's mouth curled up in a gentle smile. “Anything.” 

Laurent didn’t speak immediately, trying to form the question in his head before he spoke. “Your curse… it warned you not to trust anyone. _Betrayal shall haunt you, trust no living soul_.” 

Damen’s smile had faded a bit, though his gaze was still warm as he looked down at Laurent. “Not sure that qualifies as a question,” he said, being purposefully obtuse. 

“Why do you trust me?” Laurent said. “Of all people, I should be the one you trust least. How do you know I won’t be just another name on the list of people who have betrayed you?” 

Damen considered him for a long time. “I gave you a knife and the permission to use it,” he finally said. “And you didn’t. I suppose if you wanted to kill me that would have been the perfect opportunity.” 

Laurent felt himself smile, charmed by Damen’s simple, easy answer, despite having been shown again and again that the curse was not just empty words. There was no reason for Damen to believe that Laurent wouldn’t betray him—in fact, he had every reason to expect the opposite. And yet he still chose to believe the best. 

“I can’t decide if you’re extremely trusting or extremely foolish,” he said. 

“Likely both,” Damen replied with a sardonic smile. “They often prove to be the same thing.” 

Laurent reached up and brushed a gentle finger over the scar that ran across Damen’s face, the one that he had traced while Damen was sleeping. He felt Damen flinch slightly, but he didn’t pull away. 

“I will not betray you,” Laurent whispered. “I promise.” 

Damen’s playful smile was gone, but his eye burned bright as he looked down at Laurent. Laurent noticed the streaks of gold that threaded through the brown there, seeming to illuminate it from within. 

“I believe you,” Damen breathed, and then his mouth was on Laurent’s again, hot and consuming as he pressed him into the bedding. Laurent was alarmed by the searing need that washed through him. He had expressly avoided feeling anything like it for years, and it scared him. 

But Damen was a comforting weight on top of him, and his hands were gentle where they wandered, and Laurent _wanted_. So he let it wash over him, like water washing over a shore that had been dry for too long, and then he let it carry him away.

*****

The sun was rising. Damen could see the faint gray light seep in through the panes of glass in the window. He should get up and get ready for the day—his crew would be wondering where he was. Nikandros was not above barging in here if Damen didn’t appear. 

But Laurent was laying on his arm, his hair falling across Damen’s skin, and he looked so beautiful sleeping, so peaceful. He couldn’t bring himself to wake him. So instead he nestled tighter against Laurent, who made a soft sound in his sleep as Damen wrapped his other arm around him and pulled him closer. Ridiculously happy, he closed his eyes again and drifted off to sleep. 

They were woken what felt like mere minutes later by a loud banging on the door. Laurent blinked the sleep from his eyes as Damen clambored clumsily out of bed, pulling clothing on haphazardly as he crossed the room. He paused at the door, rubbing a hand over his face. He was fairly certain he knew who was on the other side, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for the conversation that would follow.

Sure enough, when he opened the door, he was greeted with the scowling face of Nikandros. 

“Where is he?” Nik wasted no time, his voice an impressive level of annoyed for such an early hour of the morning. 

“Nik—” Damen began.

“Do not even attempt the lie you were about to tell me. He’s not in his bunk, and you—” Nik did a cursory scan of Damen’s appearance, apparently finding exactly what he was expecting. His scowl deepened. “I know he’s in there.” 

Before Damen could even begin to form an explanation, Laurent was at his side, dressed and collected as ever. He moved into Nikandros’s line of sight, and Nik’s expression somehow grew even colder. 

“Hello, Nikandros,” Laurent said pleasantly, which seemed to annoy Nik even more. “Were you looking for me?” 

Nikandros stared at him, his jaw clenched, and without responding, looked to Damen. “May I have a word with you? Alone?” 

“No,” Damen said. “You may come in, but Laurent stays.” 

Nik blinked at Damen, clearly fighting the words that were on the tip of his tongue. “Damianos,” he said, enunciating every syllable very carefully, “I will not allow a pretty face—” he threw a glare at Laurent, just in case Laurent thought that might be a compliment “—to ruin everything we’ve worked for. You know why this can’t happen.” 

“He knows everything, Nik,” Damen said, and he had to suppress a wild burst of amusement at Nikandros’s reaction to that. He reined it in. Nik might resort to violence if Damen laughed at him now. He stood aside, gesturing towards the table. “Please, Nik, come in. I’ll explain everything.” 

He thought for a moment that Nik would outright refuse. He stood at the door, looking back and forth between Laurent and Damen, his fist clenched at his side. Finally, he exhaled loudly, a mix of irritation and resignation. He pushed past Laurent, who had a faint smile on his face. 

Damen closed the door with a small sigh. It was going to be a long morning. 

*****

“You _what?_ ” 

Damen resisted the urge to run a weary hand over his face at Nikandros’s raised voice. “We summoned the Siren,” he repeated tiredly. 

Nik had closed his eyes, breathing deeply in an attempt to calm himself. “And why, may I ask,” he said, opening his eyes to glare at Damen, “would you do something so foolish?”

Laurent spoke up before Damen could answer. “It was my idea,” he said easily. 

“Of course it was,” Nik hissed. “Were you trying to bring the whole ship down?”

Laurent raised one sanctimonious eyebrow. “Hardly. Apparently in six years, it hadn’t occurred to any of you to simply go back to the source. What was your plan, Nikandros? Wander from port to port until you happened to find a usurped throne?”

The mottled red flush that crept up Nik’s skin revealed that, more or less, that _had_ been their plan. And they all knew how well that had been going.

“And I suppose the Siren told you exactly where and how to break the curse,” Nik said flatly. 

“She revealed enough,” Laurent said. He opened his mouth to continue, but Damen held up a hand to halt him. There was no good way to tell Nikandros what he needed to know next, but he was certain that it would be better coming from him. 

He took a deep breath. There was nothing for it. “This,” he said, with a glance at Laurent, before turning his wary attention back to Nik, “is Prince Laurent of Vere. Younger brother to Crown Prince Auguste.” 

Nikandros had gone completely white, the blood draining from his face as he registered what Damen was telling him. For a long, agonizing minute, no one spoke. No one moved. 

And then Nik was on his feet, the room filling with the ring of steel as he drew his sword. Nik was fast, but, luckily, Damen had been prepared for this, and he was faster. Drawing his own sword, he moved in front of Nikandros. Bringing his sword up, he caught the blow that had been intended for Laurent’s throat. 

Laurent leaned over and picked up his goblet of water, taking a long, slow drink before putting it back down. He hadn’t even flinched. Damen wondered if this was the first time someone had attacked him at the breakfast table. Given his usual prickly personality, Damen guessed it wasn’t. 

“Have you _completely lost your senses_ ,” Nikandros pushed out through gritted teeth. He didn’t relax his hold, his sword still locked tight with Damen’s. 

“Step back,” Damen ordered. Nik’s eyes burned into Damen’s, and he could see the battle that was being waged within him. He knew that this was all born of Nik’s loyalty to Damen, and he appreciated it—he just preferred it when there weren’t swords involved. 

“Nik, he is no threat to us,” Damen said in a gentler voice. “Sit down, and I will explain. I swear it to you, I would never put you or this crew in danger.” 

Nik took a deep, shaky breath, then disengaged his sword, slowly sheathing it before he took a step backward and fell heavily into his chair. Damen stood for a moment longer before judging that the danger was past and sheathing his own sword. He glanced over at Laurent, who looked positively bored at having recently been in mortal danger. 

“You’re not helping,” he muttered under his breath. 

Laurent put on an innocent expression. “You seem to be doing fine on your own,” he replied with the barest hint of a smile. Damen found himself thinking about kissing the corners of his mouth where it curled up slightly. He mentally shook himself. This was not the time. 

He turned back to Nik. "He broke the first part of the curse," he said. "And he is the key to the second part, too." 

"Oh," Laurent said, looking at him with furrowed brows, his head tilted slightly to the side in a silent question. "I did not realize you had worked it out." 

"What, did you not think I would recognize the coincidence? I have spent six years thinking of ways to break the curse. I know I have a history of bad decision-making skills, but I'm not entirely bereft of intelligence." 

"Excuse me," Nik interrupted, seeming to find his voice finally. "Would anyone care to elaborate before I decide to throw you both overboard just to simplify my life?" 

"The reason Laurent is here," Damen said, "is because his uncle tried to kill him." 

"Multiple times," Laurent interjected. 

"Remind me to send him a token of my appreciation," Nik said dryly. 

" _Nikandros_." 

"Fine, fine," Nik said, holding his hands up in resignation. "But I still don't understand. How is that relevant to breaking your curse?" 

"When I—" The words stuck in Damen's throat, and he had to take a moment to regather them before he continued. "When I sank _The Veretian Queen_ with Laurent's father and brother aboard," he said, not looking at Laurent, "the throne passed to Laurent. But when he was forced to flee—" 

"A stolen throne," Nik said with an exhale of understanding, closing his eyes as he sat back. "Of course." 

Damen nodded. It had struck him as Laurent had held the point of his knife against Damen's throat the night before, but he had pushed it aside in the face of more pressing matters. Truthfully, he had half expected Laurent to use the knife, and even if he didn't, Damen had been certain that he was the last person Laurent would want help from. He hadn't anticipated that Laurent would put down the knife, would step closer, would lead Damen to the bed in the corner… 

He realized Nik had spoken. "What?" 

Nik's glower told Damen that he knew exactly what was on Damen's mind. "I _said_ ," he repeated with forced patience, "how are we supposed to win the throne back? Do you have a plan?" 

Damen looked over at Laurent. The piercing blue gaze was calculating. He could practically see Laurent's thoughts churning. 

"No," he said to Nik. "But we will. In the meantime, I need you to prepare the crew. We sail for Vere."

"When?" 

"Immediately."

*****

Laurent took a deep breath in, feeling the salt in the air sting his lungs slightly. The gentle rock of the ship gave him a rhythm to focus on, a comfort as he felt his weight shift back and forth, back and forth. His eyes were trained on the horizon, his attention held on something that was not yet in view. He could feel it, though—looming ahead, like a hurricane waiting to drag him down to the depths. 

“We won’t be able to see it for several hours.”

Laurent hadn’t heard Damen approach. It was unusual for him to be taken by surprise—he was normally very aware of his surroundings. Their proximity to Vere, and the man waiting for them there, had distracted him.

Laurent looked over. “I know,” he said, then turned back to the sea. 

He felt fingers brush his jaw, running under the sapphires dangling from his ear. He closed his eyes and forced himself to relax, letting himself enjoy the feeling that Damen’s touch sent through him. His anxiety didn’t disappear, but he felt a blanket of calm settle over him, dampening it. 

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” Damen’s deep voice washed over him. He opened his eyes and looked over at him, standing tall and protective at his side. He smiled sadly. 

“Many people have promised me that,” he said. “Few have kept it.” 

_We’ll be back before you know it,_ Auguste’s voice whispered in his head. The last promise he had made Laurent, before he had been taken from him. And not by Damen—not really. By his uncle. He had stolen so many things from Laurent. 

“ _I_ will keep it,” Damen said, his voice low and fierce. 

Laurent looked over at him, then reached up and smoothed his thumb over the furrow between Damen’s brows and smiled. “If anyone could, it would be you,” he said, and he was surprised to realize that he actually believed that. 

He braced his hand on Damen’s chest and leaned up to kiss him. Damen’s arm instantly curled around him, pulling him closer, and for several long moments, Laurent allowed himself to be lost to it. In the beginning he had been reluctant to show any kind of affection to Damen outside of the cabin, but as they grew closer to Vere, he found that he began to care less and less. The crew didn’t seem surprised, and outside of a few wolf-whistles here and there—the majority of which originated with Lazar—they were left to themselves. 

Damen broke away, though he kept Laurent close. “I sent the messenger this morning,” he said. “By tomorrow we will be within sight of Vere. Then we shall know if he has accepted my offer.” 

Laurent shook his head, unconvinced. “My uncle is smarter than that,” he said. “He will suspect a trap.” 

“Perhaps. But will he be able to resist the opportunity to get you back? Besides, the Damianos he knows wouldn’t hesitate to turn you in, especially for a reward. He will come. And once he is on the ship, it won’t matter.” 

Laurent leaned forward, resting his forehead against Damen’s chest and closing his eyes. He wanted to believe it would work. Damen was a warm presence against him, reassuring and solid. Perhaps he was right. His uncle would not be anticipating Laurent’s new ally. Who could have possibly guessed that he would have befriended his brother's killer? And not only befriended him—he had taken him as his lover. It was beyond even his uncle's vast imagination. 

“Well,” Laurent said, allowing a playful edge to slip into his voice, “we won’t know anything until tomorrow. However shall we spend the time while we wait?”

He felt the rumble of Damen’s laughter deep within his chest beneath his cheek. “I suspect we’ll think of something,” Damen said, and he reached down to take Laurent’s hand and guided him back to the cabin.


	5. Chapter 5

His uncle’s acceptance came the next morning, returning with Damen’s messenger. Vere appeared on the horizon, a small smudge against the sky, growing larger and larger as they approached. Laurent caught the glint off what he knew was the palace. He hoped that he would walk those halls as King, without his uncle haunting his steps. If he were to return under any other circumstances, he knew he would not last the fortnight. 

Damen attempted halfheartedly to convince him to stay below deck, but Laurent refused, as it was clear Damen knew he would. He told Damen that his uncle would never step foot upon _The Egeria_ without proof that Laurent was aboard, which was no lie. But the true reason, the one that Laurent didn’t share, was that he could never allow Damen to face his uncle without him. This was his fight. He wanted to be the one to repay his uncle for all the things he had stolen from him. 

And, whispered beneath all of that, was the thought that he would not be able to live with himself if something were to happen to Damen as he fought on Laurent’s behalf. It was an uncomfortable feeling. Laurent pushed it away. 

And so they found themselves watching the approaching ship, flying the Veretian colors that by all rights belonged to Laurent, with the red of the Regency flying below them. Laurent was dressed back in his original clothing, the sapphire earring tucked away in one of his pockets. Jord and Lazar each held one of his arms loosely, appearing to restrain them behind his back. If his uncle had a spyglass trained on him, he needed to look like a prisoner. 

“Last chance to get below deck,” Damen muttered beside Laurent. Laurent sent him his most withering glare. “It was worth a shot,” Damen said with a shrug. 

Laurent’s heart pounded as the ship sailed closer and closer, though he made sure his face was schooled in a mask of cool composure. He barely blinked while he searched the minute figures aboard the ship for the familiar features of the man who had caused so much strife. 

His breath caught in his chest as his uncle came into view. 

Soon enough the ship came to a stop, near enough that Laurent could see his uncle’s calm, charming face, a faint smile toying at the edge of his mouth. The sight of it caused something deep in Laurent’s stomach to twist unpleasantly. 

“Hello, Nephew,” he called, his deep voice ringing out across the salty air. 

“Uncle,” Laurent replied, betraying none of the nerves that coursed through him. “I don’t suppose you’re here to rescue me.”

“Of course I am,” his uncle said with sincerity that likely could have fooled someone else. “I would never leave you in the hands of your brother’s killer.” 

Before Laurent could respond, Damen stepped forward. He set a mocking smile on his face. “It’s a pleasure to see you too, Regent. Now, if we can get on with it, I’d rather have this spoiled prince off my ship. He’s been nothing but a nuisance since I plucked him off the wharf.”

Laurent resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. He made a note to circle back around to Damen’s choice of words when they were done with this. He was rather convincing. 

“Of course, Damianos,” his uncle said. “Simply transfer my nephew over, and you shall have your ransom.” 

Damen let out a warm, booming laugh. “I’m afraid it will need to be the other way around, Regent. Bring the ransom over and you can have him. You’ll forgive me if I’m a little mistrustful.” 

The Regent’s smile was fixed in place. “Very well,” he said. “And you’ll understand if I bring some members of my crew over for—insurance.”

“Of course,” Damen said with a little bow. 

The gangplanks were raised between the ships, and his uncle sent two of his crewmembers over carrying a large gold chest. He followed behind. The second his foot touched the deck, Laurent tensed. Every muscle in his body wanted to leap forward and bury his sword deep into his uncle’s chest, before anything could go wrong, before he could get his manipulative claws in and tear this all apart. But his uncle would be expecting something. He had to wait. 

The crewmen set the chest a few feet in front of Damen. “My nephew now, if you please,” the Regent said, gesturing towards Laurent. 

Damen didn’t reply. He stepped forward, keeping a careful eye on the men, and leaned down to open the chest. 

“Ah,” the Regent said, his voice colored with theatrical regret, “I was hoping you were as idiotic as you looked. This is rather unfortunate.” 

Damen threw open the chest. It was empty, as they had both known it would be. The Regent had drawn his sword, as had the two men who had accompanied him. The men left back on the Veretian ship were advancing, beginning to make their way over the gangplank. 

“And they say that I’m duplicitous,” Damen said good-naturedly, his own sword singing from its sheath. “It would seem your nephew is not worth much to you. Can’t say I blame you. I’m tempted to let you have him anyways, just to make my life easier.” 

“Please, Damianos,” the Regent replied, stepping closer. “Let’s dispense with the pretense that you had any intention of handing him over, ransom or not. You’re a pirate. You killed the Crown Prince. You have no honor.” 

“Bold words coming from the man who set an empty chest at my feet,” Damen replied easily. “Would you put your nephew’s life in danger so quickly? There is nothing to stop me from simply disposing of him now and washing my hands of this whole mess.” 

“It would be a shame if the Prince were harmed in the course of this rescue attempt,” the Regent said. “Of course, the people of Vere would not have a difficult time believing that his blood was spilled by the same hand that stole his brother’s life.” 

_Ah_. So that was his plan. Incite a fight, kill Laurent, then frame Damen as his murderer. His hands would be clean, and his path to the throne clear. Very well. If it was a fight he wanted, it was a fight he would get. 

Damen kicked the chest to the side, raising his sword. “Well, diplomacy seems to have failed us,” he said, squaring his feet. “If you want him, come and get him.” 

And then he was stepping forward, his sword a blur as he engaged the two crewman in front. The rest of the crew leapt into action, following the silent signal to battle. Jord and Lazar let go of Laurent’s arms, both drawing their swords and moving away. Laurent drew his own blade, his eyes locked on the Regent.

“Nikandros!” he heard Damen shout as he ran one of the Veretians through, then immediately ducked beneath the swing of the other. “Secure the gangplank. Keep as many of them as possible off this ship. Take the other ship if you can. Go!” 

Laurent watched as Nikandros nodded, then cut around towards the gangplank, gesturing for some of the men to follow him. And then the fighting began in earnest, and Laurent could no longer simply observe. He raised his own sword, took a deep breath, and joined the fray. 

His aim was the Regent, but every time he tried to cut towards him, he found another crewman in his path. His heart twisted at the knowledge that he was killing his own men—but then again, they were taking up arms against their Prince. He did not have the luxury of mercy. 

He parried a stroke that sent vibrations up his arm. He took a steadying step back, gritting his teeth, and found himself back to back with Damen. Laurent suddenly felt protected, as if Damen's presence were a shield. 

Damen said nothing, his breathing hard, not wasting it on useless words. But he shot Laurent a flash of a smile and slotted himself to Laurent's left. As though they had planned it this way, they renewed their fight in earnest, stronger as they fought together, their weak sides protected by the other. 

Laurent pushed a man off his sword and they found themselves in a brief bubble of calm as men fought around them. Laurent could not see the Regent through the fray. His only comfort was the sight of the space between the ships—Nikandros had been successful in removing the gangplank. His uncle was either dead or on this ship. 

The Veretian men had quickly discovered that Damen's crew could not be killed. Try as they might, they found their swords sliding between ribs and through limbs only to come back clean, the steel unstained by blood, their targets standing as tall and intact as they had been before. The Regent’s men had the crazed look of seals trapped against rocks and surrounded by orcas, their eyes wild, their nostrils flared with fear. But with the exit to their ship eliminated, they could do nothing but fight for their lives. 

Laurent felt a twinge of regret at the unfairness of this fight. But if life had been fair, he wouldn't be here in the first place. His brother would still be alive, and he wouldn't have to care about a throne at all. Fairness had only ever existed in fairy tales to Laurent. He pushed the thought out of his mind. 

He was grateful for the moment to breathe, feeling Damen's warm presence at his back as they took the chance to regroup and take stock of their surroundings.

Laurent turned his head, looking at Damen through the corner of his eye as he kept watch for more men. "Spoiled?" he asked dryly, and saw Damen grin. 

"It was either that or 'arrogant'," he replied with a hint of laughter in his voice. "And you are a nuisance. It's just that I happen to enjoy your particular brand of vexation." 

Laurent fought and failed to keep the smile off his face. "You have not yet begun to experience my full talent for annoyance," he said. "It's quite remarkable, if I do say so myself." 

Damen turned towards him a little more, his eye sparkling with mischief and something else that Laurent couldn't identify. "I look forward to finding out for myself," he said with a crooked smile that brought out the dimple in his cheek. 

Before Laurent could reply, he saw Damen's eye lift and he turned, following his gaze. His eyes locked on his uncle, approaching with a small contingent of men. The rest of Damen's crew was occupied—it was down to the two of them. 

"If you take the crewmen—" Damen began, but Laurent cut him off before he could finish. 

"No. He's mine." 

Damen looked unhappily down at Laurent, weighing what he saw in Laurent's face against his instinct to keep Laurent out of harm's way. He must have seen some of what burned within Laurent, the desire to be done with all this, the need to make his uncle answer for all the quiet, irreversible harm he had done. He had broken so many lives, letting the splinters fall around his feet, smiling as he picked his way through the pieces. Laurent vowed that there would be no more. 

"Very well," Damen said with reluctance, his brow furrowed in concern. "I will hold the rest off. But Laurent—" 

"I will," Laurent said, sensing the words that Damen had been about to say. He forced himself to look away from his uncle, meeting Damen's gaze and putting a smile on his face. "Come on. We have a curse to break."

And with that he turned, raising his sword in a sweeping arc towards his uncle. The Regent caught his blade with his own, and then Damen was drawing the others away, and it was just the two of them, surrounded by chaos, alone in the middle of a swirling storm of men and steel. 

"Hello, Laurent," his uncle said in a warm, reasonable voice, as it had always been. It was difficult, even after everything, to believe a voice like that could lie and manipulate and deceive. He had trusted it, when he had been younger. It had been his first, and most critical, mistake. 

"Uncle," Laurent said, forcing ease into his voice even as his muscles locked against the strength bearing down on his sword. 

"I must say, Nephew, I am disappointed," the Regent said. "Even with all your transgressions, I never imagined you would stoop so low as to treatise with your brother's killer." 

"Yes, speaking of that," Laurent replied coldly, "I recently had the pleasure of meeting a Siren. She had the most interesting tale to tell." 

The smile slid from his uncle's face. Laurent saw the gleam in his eyes, the one that always came before danger. It was his only warning. 

The Regent disengaged their swords, and then, in the space of a second, he sent a shattering blow towards Laurent's neck. Laurent blocked it, the force sending a shock through his arm, and without letting his uncle regroup, he stepped to the side and into a swing of his own. 

His uncle was known as a remarkable swordsman. He had decades of experience on Laurent. But Laurent had trained every day since Auguste had died, taking the grief that overflowed his heart and pooled in his stomach and letting it flow through his arm and into his sword. He had bled it off in sweat and exhaustion and tears in the training ring, hour after hour, day after day. Within the fires of loss and betrayal and anger he had forged his armor, making sure that he was not left weak and defenseless in his brother's absence. He had never anticipated that it would have a purpose. 

But as his blade met his uncle's once more, he understood. He had inadvertently ensured that he would never again be defeated without a fight. This time, his uncle would have to work for it. 

Step by step, strike for strike, they matched each other, neither gaining a clear advantage. The ship faded from Laurent's awareness, the yells of the men and the singing of steel melting into the background, disappearing beneath the reassuring sound of blood pumping through his veins and air pushing through his lungs. His body fell into its old patterns, his muscles moving without his instruction. But still his uncle met his blows with ease. 

And then Laurent felt the world twist—his ankle had caught on a trailing rope, and he was falling, and his uncle's eyes gleamed with victory as he raised his sword. Laurent tried to right himself, but it was too late. There was nothing he could do to stop it. 

His body waited for the bite of steel, his heart beating frantically, as though it knew its time was up. 

The blow didn't come. Instead, Laurent heard the Regent’s blade hit another, stopping its progress. Laurent looked up from where he had landed on the deck to find Damen standing above him, a long, angry scratch running down his neck to his collarbone, his jaw clenched as he pushed the Regent back. 

Caught off guard, the Regent backed away, and Damen reached down and grabbed Laurent by the elbow, hauling him back up. 

"Are you all right?" Damen asked quietly, his eye still watching the Regent, his sword raised and ready. 

"Yes," Laurent said, a little stunned. He blinked a couple of times, trying to remind his body that he wasn't on the verge of death. His heart remained unconvinced. 

"Do you want to finish him, or do I have to do everything around here?" Damen said, and the sight of his crooked smile, more than anything, brought Laurent back to himself. 

Laurent readjusted his grip on his sword, lifting it. "Yes, well, I suppose if you do, I'll become even more—what was it, spoiled? We can't have that." 

Damen's low laughter followed him as he stalked slowly towards his uncle, brushing a sweaty lock of hair away from his forehead. The sound of Damen's laughter bolstered him, wrapping around him like armor, the knowledge of Damen's presence like a lighthouse in the dark. His uncle watched him warily, much less composed than he usually was. 

"So you are to be a coward, and fight two against one." Laurent felt a thrum of satisfaction as he heard a note of fear in the words. 

"Oh, no," Laurent said with a grin that felt slightly feral, "Damianos is just here to watch." 

With that, he threw all his strength behind his sword, attacking with renewed energy. His uncle fought back with as much skill as ever, but Laurent could sense an edge of desperation beneath it that hadn't been there before. 

Minutes passed like hours, and Laurent lost himself to the burn of muscle and the weight of steel, his eyes never leaving the Regent’s. They broke away from each other to catch their breath, and Laurent was aware of little else until he heard Damen's voice ring out from behind him. He nearly looked back, but his training had been too good—he would not turn his back to an enemy while he still stood. 

"Regent," Damen called, "I forgot to tell you. The Siren sent a gift."

Laurent watched his uncle's eyes lift through the air and follow something Laurent couldn't see, and then he reached out and caught the object, pure white and shining in the sun.

It was the second triton shell, the one the Siren had left in her place when she had departed. Laurent wanted to laugh, but he pushed it down, just barely.

His uncle stared down at the shell, uncomprehending, his sword lowered and forgotten at his side. It was only a moment of distraction, but it was enough. Laurent, wasting no more time, raised his own blade and drove it straight through his uncle's unprotected heart. 

The world went silent, as though all the sound had been sucked out of the air, and then it all returned at once in a single high, unbearable note. Before Laurent could register what was happening, he was thrown backwards as the shell in his uncle's hand exploded, the shards slicing fine cuts into his skin. He landed atop Damen, both of them falling in an ungainly sprawl as Laurent lifted his hand to try to block the debris from his face. 

And then the normal sounds of the world returned, the clatter of swords as the remaining Veretian men dropped them in surrender, the call of gulls above them, the slap of water against the hull. Laurent clambered to his feet, then reached a hand down to help Damen up, brushing splinters from his shirt. 

And then, his body feeling light and strange, he turned, hope and dread mixing in his blood. It took a moment for his mind to catch up to his eyes. He first saw the dark boot, then followed an unmoving leg up to a still chest, then finally to large brown eyes, staring unseeingly up into the cloudless blue of the sky. 

His uncle—the last of his family, the thief of his childhood, the murderer of his father and brother—was dead. 

*****

Damen watched Laurent as he approached the Regent’s body, but his hand clutched his chest as he fought to get his breath back. When the shell had shattered, something within him had echoed it, a cage around his heart springing open and falling away in twisted scraps. He felt as though he had been run through, or as though he had been pulled suddenly from the water where he hadn't known he had been drowning. His vision was unnaturally sharp, the colors crisp and violent, the sounds in his ears loud and unnerving. 

The curse was broken. 

His mind knew it, but his heart was reluctant to believe it. He stood still as he absently followed Laurent's movements, waiting for the moment he would awaken in his bed from the dream that this must be, fevered and alone, stuck once more in his cursed existence. 

Minutes passed, and still he was here, able to breathe freely. One by one, his faculties returned to him, and then he had control of his legs, and then he was striding over to Laurent and pulling him in and kissing him helplessly, full of gratitude and disbelief and a strong, heady emotion that he didn't want to look at too closely quite yet for fear of being blinded by it. 

He pulled away when he had no air left in his lungs, smiling down at Laurent. 

"You did it," he breathed. "You broke the curse. Thank you." 

Laurent's gaze slipped sideways as he looked back at his uncle, but Damen cupped his cheek and gently guided his attention back. 

"It's what had to be done. For both of us." 

Laurent nodded, then swallowed hard, and Damen watched as the glazed look in his eyes slowly faded. It was a feeling Damen was familiar with. 

"Captain." 

Damen turned, and found his crew facing him, all present and unscathed. Suddenly remembering his orders to the one man of his crew other than Laurent in danger of physical harm, he turned his head to scan the other ship, and found Nikandros nodding to him from its helm, the remaining Veretian men bound against the mast. He turned back to the crew, letting his hand fall from Laurent. 

His companions of the last six years watched him silently, and he searched within him for the words that would matter. 

“Thank you,” Damen said with an ache in his chest. The Siren had been wrong. These men were more than just his crew, and he would miss them. But they did not belong to this world. He forced a smile onto his face. “It was an honor sailing with you.” 

Jord, standing in the front, took his hat off and placed it on his chest. “The honor was ours, Captain Damianos,” he said with a small little bow. Behind him, he saw the rest of them match the gesture, though he noted with amusement that Lazar gave a little salute and a playful wink instead. 

“You’re all dismissed. Fair winds and following seas.” He heard the trace of sadness that had crept into the words, but the men didn't seem to mind. 

A light, warm breeze sprang up, ruffling Damen’s hair and tugging at his clothing. With the quiet, relieved sigh of a hundred lost souls, the men dissolved in a mist of sea spray, carried away on the wind, glittering in the late afternoon sun as they finally found their peace. 

He was surprised by the bereft feeling that filled his chest. He had not been aware of how strong the bond between him and his crew had grown. For a long moment, he stood there in the silence of an empty ship, staring out at the sea. Then Laurent’s voice cut through his grief. 

“Damen,” he said with an urgent edge to his voice. “The ship.” 

Damen turned to see him looking over at the railing to their left, and he followed his gaze. He felt the blood drain from his face as he saw what Laurent had seen, and watched the beautiful, solid wood begin to rot before his eyes, falling completely away in places. 

He looked down at the planks beneath his feet. They, too, were decaying, as though six decades of water damage had happened in the span of minutes. He backed away from a slowly growing hole. Through it, he could see water beginning to leak into the lower levels. The ship was sinking. 

“No.”

“Damen, we have to go.”

“ _No_.” His voice cracked slightly as he watched his beloved ship fall apart. He had not anticipated this. He was not prepared to let her go. She had been the only home he’d known for six years. 

He felt strong hands grip his arm. “Damen,” Laurent said, the urgency growing, “the curse is broken. She’s a shipwreck wrapped in magic that is no longer alive. We have to leave, _now_ , or we’re going down with her. Don’t let this all go to waste.”

Damen knew he was right, but it felt like leaving a piece of his soul behind him. He allowed Laurent to guide him over to the edge of the deck, now open to the sea below, picking their way carefully around expanding gaps in the wood. Laurent’s uncle’s ship was waiting within reach, though it was not an easy distance. They would have to jump.

“Go first. I’ll follow,” Laurent said steadily. 

His feet might as well have been glued to the ship for how difficult it was to make them move. He felt as though a tether stretched from his heart, deep into the hull, to wherever a ship’s heart must lie. He took several steps back, and then, with a wrenching twist beneath his ribs, he took a running leap. His breath left his lungs as his feet left the deck, as though it, too, was reluctant to leave her behind. 

He caught the railing of the Veretian ship, then, finding a notch in the side of the ship for his foot, he hauled himself up and over. Turning back to _The Egeria_ , Damen felt dread seep into his blood. The ship was deteriorating at an alarming rate. There was only a foot and a half of wood beneath Laurent’s feet. Any longer and he would fall. 

Damen reached out his hand. “You have to jump now,” he called. Laurent didn’t have the luxury of a running start, and he was significantly shorter than Damen. There was no use saying any of that. The calculation in Laurent’s eyes told him that he already knew. “I’ll catch you. I promise.” 

He watched Laurent swallow hard, a wry twist pulling at his mouth. “I don’t have a great track record with promises,” he said, and though he was trying for a light tone, Damen could hear the truth of it. “They tend to be broken.” 

“Not now. Not with me. I told you I wouldn't let anything happen to you, and I'm not going to start now,” Damen said. He braced his hips against the railing, wedging his foot between two boards and shifting until he was secure. Then he leaned completely over, reaching out with an arm. “Do you trust me?” 

Laurent’s hesitation was palpable, but finally he nodded. “Then jump. Now,” Damen said. He said it with no room for debate, though he wrapped the commanding edge of his voice in a soft cloak of reassurance. 

Laurent gathered himself, looking down at his footing and how much room he had to work with, and then looking back over to judge the distance. Damen saw him take a deep breath and then, with as much strength as he possessed, he jumped. Damen’s heart pounded as his mind calculated whether it had been enough.

His heart stopped as he realized the answer. Laurent wasn’t going to make it.

Damen didn’t think or pause. He leaned as far over the rail as he could, feeling his foot twist where it was braced between the boards. He would be damned if they had come this far for it to end like this. He stretched, his large, callused hand reaching for Laurent’s fine, soft one. 

With both hands, he caught Laurent’s forearm and didn’t let go. 

Laurent brought his other hand up to clutch at Damen’s forearm. “Hold on,” Damen said through gritted teeth. He felt his muscles strain and his bones ache as he lifted. Slowly, so slowly, he pulled Laurent up, and then Laurent was able to grasp the railing and pull himself up, and then, finally, he clambered over and fell into Damen’s arms. 

Damen clung tightly to him as Laurent buried his face at Damen’s neck. He could feel Laurent’s heart pounding against his chest, quick as the wings of a bird. Laurent’s breath came fast and heavy, warm upon Damen’s skin. For what felt like hours, they just stood there, holding each other. 

“Thank you,” Laurent finally said. 

“I keep my promises,” Damen said with a smile as he pressed a light kiss on the top of Laurent’s head. His eyes returned to _The Egeria_ , nearly unrecognizable as the same ship he had cared for and loved all these years. Laurent turned, sliding from Damen's grasp, as he, too, witnessed the destruction of everything Damen had held dear since his father's ship had been blown to splinters six years ago. 

The wood that remained was rotted and weak, as though it had spent decades at the bottom of the sea. The sails were in tatters, pieces drifting away in the wind as they dissolved. She was nearly halfway underwater already, her stern sinking quicker than the bow. The only thing that remained intact was the lion at her head, seeming to rear as the ship tipped backwards. 

He swore he saw the lion’s mouth open wider, and then the lion burst forth, wood transforming back to water, the roar as it rejoined the sea seeming to echo as though the lion had actually been living, if only for a brief moment. 

And then, as Damen watched, helpless, the deck was completely submerged, the mast the only thing left above the water. Laurent’s presence at his side was his only comfort. Damen felt Laurent thread their fingers together, and Damen held tight, his only anchor in the sea of grief that he was drowning in. Together they held vigil as _The Egeria_ silently slipped beneath the waves. 

Damen stared at the last ripple as the tip of the mast disappeared, and then even the ripple was gone, leaving no sign of the devastation that tore at Damen’s heart. He could not tear his eyes away from where his beloved ship had disappeared forever.

“I’m sorry, Damen,” Laurent said quietly.

“She was the only home I had,” Damen said, his voice hollow.

“I know.” 

“I don’t know what to do now.” 

Laurent was silent for a long time. “I have plenty of ships,” he finally said, his voice careful. “You can have your pick of them, if you wish to return home and face your brother.” 

_Home_. Damen thought of the place he had yearned for, the place that he had thought he had been working so hard to return to. But he felt no draw to it, not like he did to where he knew _The Egeria_ now sat on the sea floor. 

“No,” he said, looking over at Laurent. “That place holds nothing for me now. Maybe there is no such thing as home. Not for me. Not anymore.” 

Laurent was watching him, scanning his face for something. “You know,” he said, his voice slow as he turned to scan the horizon, “Vere’s merchant fleet has been lacking a good captain for many years. As King, I have a responsibility to fill the position with the best man possible.” He turned back to Damen. “Know anyone who would be interested?” 

Damen’s thoughts were slow to come together. It took him an embarrassing length of time to understand what Laurent was saying. 

“You want me to stay?”

“If that is what you want,” Laurent said. He swallowed. Damen could see how difficult it was for him to be so vulnerable, to open himself to such possibility of rejection. 

“Your people would never accept me,” Damen said, though he wished with all his heart that it could be possible. “Not with what I’ve done.” 

“They will when they know the truth,” Laurent said, and then a faint smile curled at the corners of his mouth. “Besides, you’re infuriatingly difficult to dislike. Give it a month and you’ll be the most popular man in Vere.” 

Hope beat within Damen like a drum. He wanted it, more than he could admit to himself, more than he had ever wanted anything. He looked to where the water had reclaimed _The Egeria_ , then turned and looked to the distant city behind them, the palace gleaming like a beacon in the late afternoon sun. And then, like an inevitability, he returned his gaze to Laurent, a slow smile stretching across his face. 

He leaned over and caught Laurent’s mouth with his own. He couldn’t help it. And as they kissed, Damen felt the restlessness in his soul whisper and then quiet, disappearing for the first time in six years. As Laurent tangled his fingers in Damen’s hair and pulled him closer, Damen felt only relief and promise and a bright, shining light filling up the spaces between his ribs. 

The sun was warm upon his skin, but not nearly as warm as the place his lips touched Laurent’s. _Home_. Maybe it wasn’t a place. Maybe it was this—a sense of rightness, a feeling, a person. 

A future.

As he lost himself in it, he swore he heard the faint, unearthly, chaotic echo of laughter dance past him before it faded once more into the wind.


End file.
